2 0 1 2
by The Great Ahtnamas
Summary: The Mayan end of the world is approaching, but not just that; a new president of the United States will soon be necessary as well. Just in time to claim the title is A dark king of another world. Rated for future violence of sorts.
1. Appearance of a new President

Chapter I

The Appearance of the New President

Where do I begin? This tale of woe takes place in the grand country, The United States of America, more specifically New Hampshire, in the year 2012. I was but nineteen years old in spring, but a season before this tale starts. My name is Samantha Jackson of the Balanced People, which is, for the sake of this tale, unimportant until the end. A dark cloud came over our already-corrupt land. Obama's time in presidency was coming to an end, and a new president was soon to be necessary. The country was a mess, financially, politically, and in every corner of the country's establishment.

The day was Thursday the twenty-first of June (check it if you want) and almost one entire year since my graduation of High School. A good friend of mine—a foreigner forced by his parents to move here and forced by his own will to return home—from Guatemala returned to the US for a familial visit. He called me early that morning and made quick arrangements to meet that very night in Keene. He took me to a restaurant called "Luca's." It was quite a lovely dinner where we caught up on lost times and new memories. Quickly afterward, we left "Luca's" and sat on one of the stone benches of Main Street, Keene. I remember it as if it was yesterday...

I turned to him. He was watching the moon above the city, his eyes transfixed. "When do you plan to leave?"

He looked over to me, eyes full of confusion. "Is that what you want? For me to leave again?"

I was surprised at the negative turn. "No, no! Of course not! It was just, between college and all, I would like to make a habit of this."

It was his turn to be surprised. "College? You never said anything about that. Where do you go to college?"

I simply raised a hand and pointed diagonally down Main Street before saying "Keene State College."

"So close to home?"

"I don't have to pay to stay on campus; it helps financially."

He gave a little smile before looking back in the sky. This time, his expression was full of confusion and worry, yet his eyes were, again, transfixed, but this time not upon the moon.

I became slightly worried. "What's wrong?"

He pointed in the sky, and my eyes quickly spotted a shadow just to the left of the moon. We watched it for a moment before a rumbling sound came from his pant pocket. He quickly pulled out a cell phone and took a look at it. "Mis padres..." He turned to me. "¿Querrías a ir a interior?"

I gave him a look, reminding him that if he was going to speak Spanish, he was going to have to do so a little slower.

He shut his eyes, shook his head in slight embarrassment, and said, "Los sientos, would you like to come inside?" He gestured toward a nearby restaurant called "Armadillos."

I quickly nodded. He took my hand in his and walked me to the restaurant, saying, "This will only take a moment," and answering the call.

We sat down at one of the more inconspicuous tables in the corner. I continued to watch the shadow, which now appeared in front of the moon.

"No." Kevin's voice rose, catching my attention. "No, papá, con una amiga Buena. Contas con mi llegado a medianoche o más tarde." And with those final, harsh words, he hung up. He looked out the window with me.

"What was that about?"

He shook his head. "Nothing important."

I sighed. Everyone liked to pull that crap with me. But I suppose it was a bit hypocritical of me to complain.

"What do you suppose it is?" He asked after a moment.

But just as I was about to answer, some bright mauve light shone forth from the shadow and I heard one word deep within my mind: "Sleep." The simple word was quite powerful; I quickly lost much of my strength and slowly fell into Kevin's suddenly ready arms.

"Something's wrong..." I muttered.

"Are you okay?" Kevin asked.

I looked around. I was not the only one suddenly tired—actually, I was the only one with my eyes still open, and they were quickly drooping. But it seemed to only affect the women. Any who had come with them were instantly worried of their health. "I... I dunno..." My words slurred together with increasing laziness.

After that, my eyes closed and I remembered very little; there was a struggle and I was taken away along with the rest of the women, who had succumbed to the spell.

It could not have been the next night when I awoke, though it was dark. Hardly an hour could have passed. I was on my side, lying upon broken sticks, chipped rocks and groups of pebbles. I began to shift in the hopes of finding a more comfortable position to rest in when I realized that I was not in my bed at home and that I was bound. I opened my eyes while trying to remember how the night played out, upon which I realized both my wrists and ankles had been manacled together.

"Sire, this one awakens!" A voice said behind me. In what little time I had, I examined the foreign surroundings. I, as well as many others, lay within a large field I had been to once or twice. It was actually fairly close to home. The cliffs and forests surrounded us all from all sides except one and very little grass grew in such a dead place. I pushed myself up with my bound hands, into a sitting position, both legs to one side.

Heavy steps came swiftly behind me. I turned to see who had advanced. A large, strong, dark hand grabbed and lifted my chin. "Welcome to the world of the living. You are the first to return." In the dark his features were quite difficult to discern.

"Wh-who are you?" I stammered in the attempts to escape his grasp. "What do you want?"

"Perhaps if you ask me something a little more imaginative I'll answer it." He retorted in a menacingly powerful voice.

Before I could answer, someone interrupted: "King Ganondorf, this is the child that fought off the spell for a time..."

The man before me, apparently the king of some sum of people, turned to the voice.

"Her friend gave quite a struggle for her freedom, too." The voice continued. "We had to hex him as well."

The man's hand dropped from my chin, which helped me grasp what little courage I had left. "What did you do to him?" My volume awoke no one, but it was quite formidable.

He turned aback and looked at me with sharp, yellow eyes. "Another cliché question. Koume, Kotake, if you don't mind." He stood from his knelt position and stepped to the side so I could see two old women in black robes with white hair and brooms. You may say that is a generic description for any old witch, but what separated them from the rest was the large jewel upon their foreheads, one being of sapphire origin and the other of ruby.

They didn't even need to bend down to me after approaching me. "Your friend is fine. He is sleeping soundly in his bed at home." One said, while the other laughed.

The first thing I thought was that he was back in Guatemala, bringing forth a fearful gasp, but my second thought was, of course, his safety.

"High Lord," one turned to this 'king' and said, "the others should awaken within the hour."

"And before we go, might we warn of one thing?" The other continued.

"A warning is well accepted. What be it?" He inquired.

"This girl is not like the others. Though they may easily be held under your thumb..."

"...she will not. Not only is her mind a strong one, but it is also full of fog and cloud." The two twins seemed to speak off each other.

"Fog is nothing and her strength can be no more than a sliver of mine, even intellectually." The 'king' argued.

"Within this fog, she sees perfectly fine. She throws attacks while we are blind to the assault. Be forewarned; if you still plan to control her as you do the rest, be prepared for a hard fight—perhaps even a war."

No one—not even them themselves—knew how prophetical their words would be. I, as well as the 'king,' thought they over judged; but their certainty proved to be something otherwise. With that, they walked away, side by side, to a small tent set up in a corner of the clearing. That left the 'king' and me to become, sadly, better acquainted.

"Whereas you have their unwavering minds swayed, you do not have mine." He hissed darkly. After a moment, however, he grinned maliciously. "Let's just see how... strong your mind truly is..." He raised his open hand and placed it upon my forehead with a harsh force that thrust my head backwards, though my back stayed unmoved. There was something else about this attack; it felt as though I was being invaded—everything that I was was now, somehow, exposed. My eyes had shut when his hand came at me, and tightened when the pain worsened. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the field I had been in: I was in the sky—a quite cloudy sky. Most oughtn't be able to see a single inch in front of them, but here's the odd part: I saw perfectly fine. I took in my new surroundings, realizing that I was neither rising nor falling, but, rather, floating. Some sort of instinct overtook me within less than a moment. I rushed forward for twenty, thirty seconds tops, where I found this 'king' hovering more confusedly than I. I rounded him, looking at him up and down. But he didn't seem to notice.

Admittedly, quite quickly, he understood how to maneuver, and quickly did so, directing himself down. I know it was important for me to stop him, though how I knew it, or why it was important, I did not know. I rushed after him, easily catching up to him and even surpassing him. I held something in my hand—in both of my hands—something cold. I didn't even look at the object, but, rather, instinctively threw it at the 'king.' It struck him square in the chest, knocking him up in the air. I could sense a harsh pain emanating from a sharp object that had penetrated his lung.

I fell into the ground as his hand released my forehead. I felt groggy—as if I had just awakened from a restless sleep.

As my vision was still blurry, a large hand grabbed my chin painfully and lifted my head upwards. "That was a grave mistake, wench!" With those harsh words, I was flung into the dirt. He left me semiconscious, chained to the many unconscious girls of various ages to my left and right.

I didn't know what I was trying to protect—and beyond that I had no idea until quite recently after examining my past where it was I had been—but I had sincerely wished I hadn't. As it seems, the 'king' and I had been on the outskirts of my own consciousness and what I fought to protect were my own memories, my own thoughts, and any information he might have found useful. At this particular time, I was quite worried of what was to soon happen and quite annoyed with my harsh instinct.

Now, however, I am quite glad my natural instinct was present. If it was not, this story may be nonexistent...

* * *

**AN: So, I have updated this for all who care. There were lots of grammatical errors, and I think I fixed most of them. If any more are found, please notify my and I will do my best to fix them. Please Review, but if you have criticism, try to make it at least sound constructive. Thank ye muchly!**

**Also, My profile on deviantART is DragonoftheWestIroh. If you like my work, you may find some things there that I cannot post here. If it's easier for you to read my stuff through this website, do not hesitate. Again, thank yo all for reading, and I'll update as soon as I can!**


	2. A Scheme Revealed

Chapter II

A Scheme Revealed

Now, I suppose I ought to tell you now that there is more than just a connection between this "king," the end of the world, and the need of a new president. Unfortunately, he appeared with timing that made it easy to access power—though, admittedly, had the situation been anything different, the outcome would have remained the same.

Many more women awoke, chilled, uncomfortable, and scared, just as I had been and still was. To be quite honest, I do believe that all of the girls were awake, just some were more obviously so than others. The "king" stood a good 300 yards away from me, watching his prisoners slowly awaken from their slumber.

Finally, he began to walk up and down the row, watching everyone's still, dark figures. "You who have awakened, stand."

Slowly, we all did so, though I took as much time as I could doing it.

He walked up to a young girl—fifteen, maybe sixteen—and held her chin as he had mine. "Of what race are you? What do you call yourselves?"

I could hear her inconsistency of breathing. She hesitated a few seconds before speaking. "W-what do you mean?"

I felt bad for her. _I_ didn't even understand the question at first.

An eyebrow raised in annoyance and his voice rumbled in anger. "I mean what I ask of you, now answer me."

She trembled plainly. With nothing to say, she pointlessly opened her mouth for no sound to pass. This "king" grew quickly impatient. He glared at her in disappointment and raised his hand to backhand her. I watched all of this happen in an instant and in an instant more, I absent mindedly halted his action.

He turned his head in my direction, hand still raised.

My jaw quivered before answering. "We are American as you are Hyrulian—New Hampshirites as you are Gerudo."

His eyes widened with, what I soon realized to be, surprise. "Hyrulian?" He began advancing me, having taken his hand down. "Gerudo? How do these words so easily pass your lips?"

I was confused briefly, then closed my eyes and winced as I realized my mistake. "I don't—I didn't—"

"What? 'Mean to say that?'" He mocked.

"I... I just didn't... want to see her get hit...." The words were pathetic—I knew it as I said them.

"Well, if you do not want to be "hit" yourself, I suggest you answer my question; how are you so familiar with these words?"

Shaking as I stared up into his face, I gulped hard. "M-may I leave it at 'long story?'"

HE stood with his chest mere inches from me. "No." he quickly and quietly replied.

I quickly looked at the ground in the search of some answer he would understand and buy. I knew the term "Video Game" wouldn't go over so well. However, I was unfortunately at a loss.

He sighed with a growl and turned his back to me. He began to walk away, which briefly filled me with relief but soon stopped and turned his head to the side, arms behind his back, and pupils in the corner of his eyes in my general direction. "Take her to the tent; tie her to a tree nearby. She has caused enough trouble for one evening."

I whimpered as I understood his words and struggled at the grip of one of his many beasts. It quickly undid the shackles at my wrists, leaving an empty space in the line of standing women. I tried to pull away from it, though I know there was nowhere I could go.

Sporadically, a large hand held my chin still. My surprise discontinued any struggle I had previously persisted. "I will deal with you later. Whatever _war_ you have planned will be nonexistent by the night's end." I tried to pull away from him and the beast, failing miserably. He only tightened his already harsh grip and smiled. "Fight all you want. You know as well as and of us here that you are no match for me."

'No one besides Koume and Kotake.' I thought to myself as he glared into my desperate eyes.

He cocked his head and raised his eyebrow. "Is that understood?"

I had to close my eyes to keep my sudden tears back. "Well enough...." I answered while nodding my head as well as possible.

He let go, quickly thrusting my head to the side. "Then you be a good girl and be quiet while your future king works his magic."

His entire sentence was literal and I knew it. I feared my near future, or possible lack of a distant one, but I feared the future of the women who remained chained to one another most. I wept silently after his back was turned and while I was picked up and held at the beast's side, one of his large, powerful arms holding me at my stomach and my arms tied behind my back. When we arrived, he pushed me to the ground, butt half submerged in an algae infested puddle. The beast withdrew another rope from is pocket and tied my hands to the tree. I struggled much less than I had before, and when the beast left me alone, I wept deeply for quite some time....

The words this "king" said fell short of my ears. I heard a constant rumble of his voice, but his exact words were unheard. But it was not long before I heard a higher, much more upset voice. I looked up to see a girl in lantern-light yelling at this "king." I could see fear in her eyes, but I could hear anger in her voice much more prominently.

"You are a horrible, horrible man!" Just as my head turned at the outburst, so, too, did everyone else's. "What power do a constant rumble of his voice, but his exact words were unheard. But it was not long before I heard a higher, much more upset voice. I looked up to see a girl in lantern-light yelling at this "king." I could see fear in her eyes, but I could hear anger in her voice much more prominently.

"You are a horrible, horrible man!" Just as my head turned at the outburst, so, too, did everyone else's. "What power do _you_ have to hypnotize the whole world? I've never even heard of you before! People will rebel! There's no way this whole country will loyally follow you!"

"That's enough, girl." The "king" warned.

"...just like the hippies did! Just like my mother and dad! You won't—"

The "king crossed the gap between them in a few short strides. He tightly held her mouth shut, almost lifting the girl off the ground. "That is enough. Now, you_ demand_ of me to tell you what my power comes from? Why I am as great a threat as I say I am? Beyond the fact that my minions, _under my orders_, brought you all here in the dead of night, I have something no one on this planet can overpower." He held his hand up in the air, his fingers tightening around what seemed like nothing. "Would you like a demonstration?"

His back was toward me, but I could sense his ominous smile. The girl, on the other hand, struggled to escape, fear in her eyes and her chains audibly shaking. She was trying to say something, but it was muffled by his hand and his grip allowed her no movement. To his question, it was obvious that she wanted nothing of the sort, but only her eyes could give a clear signal, and he purposefully looked passed that.

"I shall take that as a yes." He said. His clenched fist began to glow—yes, glow. But the glow was not with a bright light of yellows and whites, but rather purples and blacks. It all seemed to be a dark cloud illuminating from the palm of his hand. Her fear only grew—and rightfully so, I might add. The "king's enjoyment only grew. He placed his hand to her heart and within mere seconds his hand jolted against her chest, releasing the dark magic into her body. I could hear what would have been an ear piercing shriek had his hand not muffled it. Quickly, very quickly, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she was painfully killed. When she went limp, the "king" let her fall to the ground, her black curls falling across her pale skin. She could have been no older than 25. And now her should was painfully ripped from her body far too prematurely to my liking. While the living girls in chains gave gasps and shrieks, I only wept. I could only.

The "king" turned to face the girls to each side. "Now, you see," he was quite suddenly calm, "those who oppose me will suffer the consequences, be it peasant or president, be it death," he pointed at the dead girl before him, "or be it something much, much worse," with that, he looked straight up at me, straight across the way. "I know none of you know magic, now how to use it, nor any who can against me. It would be to all of your advantages if you simply cooperated."

Few minutes passed before the two old women emerged from the tent to my rear. My head robotically turned the 90° it could to see them. They were as surprised as I.

"It begins already, I see." One said, shaking her head.

"Indeed it does." Answered the other

The first to speak approached me. "Now what have you done to disserve this, my girl?"

Her red jewel upon her forehead began to glow. It was familiar enough; I knew who she was. "I do not know; ask your "king," Koume."

Kotake, the other one, raised an eyebrow. "Interesting memory. You never cease to surprise." And with that, they quickly made their way away.

The girls were unshackled and thrown in line from random rock to Koume and Kotake. The tall beasts stood next to every other girl, keeping them from escaping. As each stood before the witches, they were pushed to their knees, had their wrists trust out before them, and cut with a knife, blood dripping to the ground, and through this short ritual, they passed out, one after the other. I didn't see why they would slit their wrists to make them pass out when they had magic at their disposal.

"Now, I ask you once more,"

Fear shot through me as I realized the "king" was mere inches behind me. I was alone with him, he who had magic at his disposal. I thought about the black-haired girl.

"how do you know such words as "Gerudo?"" His words were whispered through my hair and into my ear.

My jaw quivered in fear as I slowly opened my mouth. "W-w-why is that so important?" I swiftly asked.

He grabbed my tied hands and raised them up against my shoulder blades. I gave a yelp of surprise and pain. "You see, it doesn't work that way." He whispered very calmly. He pushed my arms up higher. "_I_ ask the questions and _you answer_ them." My legs began to push my upper body up in the attempts to compensate for is means of torture. This "king" saw this, however. He pushed my shoulder down until there was a loud 'clunk' as my bones came out of socket. I let out a screech and let a tear run down my cheek. He didn't care—in fact, I'm almost quite certain he was enjoying this. "Am I perfectly clear?"

I only gave a small sound as an approval.

"Very well." He let go of me, letting my arms painfully fall back down. "Now, let us try again. How did these words fall into your mind?"

"I... I don't... know...." My answers were all pathetic. I was horrible at answering the questions he asked me, and I feared he would grow tired with me and end my life—or worse....

He seemed genuinely curious. "Don't know?" He began to circle me to my front. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I... I cannot explain. If I did, you'd surely never believe me." I began to calm my voice.

"You believe so?" He seemed very intrigued now.

"I'm fairly certain...." I began.

He came forward calmly. "I do believe it would be to _your_ best interest if you tried." He smiled at me, malice vaguely showing through the fog of kindness that was in his eyes.

I sighed and winced before attempting to explain. When I did, he only spoke to urge me to continue. I paused quite often, waiting for some sort of inquiry or lack of understanding. He was quiet and seemed more intrigued than I expected. Finally, my explanation was complete, and his expression was indiscernible.

"To be certain, then, a game?" A simple game, that is it?" He asked.

"Well, yes. A technologically advanced one, but yes."

He nodded. "Very well. Enjoy your stay; I will return for you when I see fit." He turned slightly and took a few steps toward the tent.

I turned, as much as I could, in his direction. "Wait," was my only call, which he surprisingly obeyed. I had to think a moment on my question—how to properly word it, I suppose. The girl with black hair said something about hypnosis, but that's I had to think a moment on my question—how to properly word it, I suppose. The girl with black hair said something about hypnosis, but that's _hardly_ a threat; I've been hypnotized before, and I was in total control. I was able to choose which suggestions to do and which to ignore. "That girl—the one you killed—she said something about... 'hypnosis.' What was she talking about?"

He raised his head and looked down at me. "Am I to assume you did not hear of the current ritual?" He asked.

"Wh... I suppose that is a yes, but wha—"

"Brainwashing." He interrupted.

I knew the term well. He once did it to a rebel of his own tribe so she would do his will. So that's what he was doing to the women...? But why? And why only the women?

"You know me well, as well as Twinrova, so I have seen. The term should not be unfamiliar to you."

I shook my head, still in though. "No, not at all. But why? What do you plan to make the do?"

He grinned. "A... little bird told me of your... ruler. Apparently he will soon be leaving—for whatever reason—isn't that correct?"

I gulped. "I fear that it may be...."

"And you 'vote' for your ruler?" He asked raising an eyebrow, still grinning.

My eyes widened. "What?! You're going to brainwash them to vote for you as president?" I asked in utter surprise and disbelief.

"No." He slyly answered. "_All_ of _you_ will 'vote' for me. There will be no exceptions to those brainwashed—except for death, of course."

It took me a moment to understand his implications. I gulped before retaliating, "I would much rather_ die_ than be _brainwashed_ to do you will." I awaited some for of physical beating, but I received none. He only spoke amidst a chuckle;

"That, girl, is half of the reason I don't kill you." Here, he smiled almost kindly. "Now, I'll leave you to think things over, not that there's all that much. I shall return; and dread the moment that I do." And with that, he made his way smoothly to the nearby tent.

I wept. It was all I could do but think; so I wept. I wept at the fear of losing my memories—my friends and family, I feared, along with them. I wept at the cold feeling of failure and the total control this "king"—this _Ganondorf_ had upon me. But mostly, I wept of fear. Period. It was all I felt at that moment; fear, and it was what controlled me then. My heart raced uncontrollably, my arms and shoulders ached where they had been popped in and out of socket, though the pain was dulled slightly because of the adrenaline pumping through my veins, and tears slid down my cheeks until my eyes burned and I could no longer cry.

I knew three things for certain; I was in the presence of one not to be trifled with, I was in a horrible situation that could change the course of my life forever, and I had to get away. I had to escape, no matter what that meant. I knew here that it was every "woman" for herself, or no one would make it. I had to get away—warn my friends and family, make certain they were safe, and escape being brainwashed, no matter what that took. I just had to get away. I began shuffling around in the grass, sticks, and water, in search of _anything_ sharp....


	3. Escape and Warning

2012 Part III

Escape and Warning

I watched the scene below from a nearby cliff. I had, thankfully managed to run my hand across an old, rusty yet sharp blade I assumed was used to cut down the trees that once stood in the area. It was only a small piece of a larger weapon, but it served my needs beautifully. From my post a ways away, I could see where I was tied to the tree and I could see where I stood with the girls. I could see Koume and Kotake continuing their ritual with the many girls that remained. There must have been more than two hundred girls unconscious, another hundred still awake and sane minded, and a select few that had been awoken in their new state. I could see the canvas tent that the 'king' currently resided in. I could see the narrow trail from which I was lead to the top of this cliff.

I knew I could not linger; if I did, I would have been caught again, and probably beaten, but beyond that, I would have been brainwashed and wouldn't have been able to warn those I could otherwise. I quietly made my way across the cliff until I came to a downhill slope. It wasn't steep, but the people who "cleared" the land didn't do an excellent job of it; tree trunks and large branches lie unevenly upon the ground and algae-filled puddles lined the field like frozen veins. I did not make one sound—I took my time to make that certain. But my absence was not ignored for long.

I cold hear the voices of the monsters; they were calling for their "king." I saw a light from the tent, a large silhouette briefly shown through the entryway. I heard very few words, some including "What?" "Get…. Find…." and "Don't… away!"

My heart began to pound as I understood the urgency in this "king's" voice. He wanted me found no matter the cost, and I needed to escape no matter the cost. I picked up my pace when I could and made absolutely no sound—well until I tripped and rolled down a fairly steep hill. Branches snapped loudly as my sudden pressure hit them and the streams splashed enough to give away my position. I gasped as I heard the voices of the beasts growing nearer. I scrambled to my feet and ran down the hill as fast as I possibly could, continuing to trip, but not falling again.

Now, from here it is all quite difficult to remember details. I only remember running, fear, tumbling, and increased fear. I easily ignored my heavy breaths as I only heard my whimpering. I somehow made my way out of the clearing, down and across Route 32, and ran into another patch of woods I was extremely familiar with. I ran down a trail a ways and veered into the trees to hide. I knew I wouldn't be able to out run the monsters for long—especially if I had been followed. I buried myself under some sticks and leaves, face into the ground. I saw a lantern's light appear and grow in light. I shivered, mostly of fear.

'Zhlekah!" I remember the word well, even to this day. It meant a number of things; "Attention," "Stop," and in this case, "Wait," or "Pause." My heart jolted as the thundering stopped mere feet from me. The head monster took a few steps—I could tell because of his voice "Little girl…" He was somehow speaking English. "…little girl, if you come out now, no harm with come to you."

I ground my teeth to keep myself from speaking.

"Otherwise, I cannot guarantee such a treat."

After a few moments of absolute silence, half of the beasts were sent in the direction we came while the other half ventured down the trail. I hoped to traverse later. I fell asleep on the ground and slept well into the next morning.

I opened my eyes. I remember the sunlight hitting my eyes from high above. I heard birds, I heard leaves, I heard chipmunks, squirrels, and the swift passing of water. I sat up quick, spooked by the lack of a comfortable bed, a billow, and more importantly, a roof. I briefly forgot what had happened only 12 hours ago. I was so happy I evaded the beasts—so happy. But I was suddenly frightened again. I feared I might have been spied upon, that I might be watched. But if there was any time to go, it was then.

"Where have you been?!" my father angrily growled at me as I slipped through the front door. Though I was old enough to live alone or start my own family, he still worried for me like I was a young child. I, now, miss it a little.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you with great detail without smiling." I answered. I did plan to tell him—soon, as a matter of fact—but I realized that he may have only believed me to have fallen asleep in the woods or elsewhere.

"You had better start explaining and don't lie." He replied.

So, needless to repeat, I told him the tale. It was not the first time I spoke if the tale; not by a long shot. I repeated it to myself multiple times, and as my father listened, I _still_ did not believe myself.

He seemed to have only laughed for what seemed to me like hours. "You have _got_ to be joking!"

I grinned with annoyance. "I told you."

"Sam, I told you not to lie, so if you truly believe you are not lying—"

"I must be crazy." I finished for him. "Call it what you want, but like I said," because I had mentioned it before, "he's brainwashing the people of New Hampshire, and soon all of the United States!" Oh, what an apocalypse. Where was Link when you needed him?

He put a hand on my shoulder and, oddly, pulled me into a hug. ~And here enters 'instinct' stage left….~

"Ow! Let—ugh, dad, let go!" I squirmed from his grip, my shoulder screaming at me.

"What's the matter?" He asked, now concerned.

I held the shoulder that hurt the most with my right hand. "My shoulder… it hurts, a lot."

He came over and pulled up my sleeve gently. As soon as my shoulder was exposed:

"Sam! Sam, what the hell happened?!" It was a confused, surprised, horrified voice of concern.

I looked toward my shoulder, but pas my bunched-up sleeve I could see nothing so horrid; I could only feel it. "What? How bad is it?"

He dragged me to a mirror in the living room and made me face to the side I was totally surprised when I saw it. My shoulders had been black and blued down my arm, my chest, and my back. I put my hand up to it to make sure it was real, and it was, of course. It also stung to my touch.

_He pushed my shoulder down until there was a loud 'clunk' as my bones came out of socket._

I carefully pulled up my other sleeve to see a twin bruise.

"How did this happen?" My dad asked.

I looked into his eyes. They seemed to say, to scream, 'I know what you are about to say; please don't say it!' "When I was tied to the pole, he…" I turned away from him, trying not to remember much. "…he pushed them out of socket—hard…"

I heard a growl and a sympathetic 'My god…."

"Dad, I need to warn as many people as I can. He—" I turned and angrily yelled, "he's going to brainwash everyone! _Everyone!_ We can't let that happen…."

"Sam, don't you have to be willing to be brainwashed?"

"I don't know, look it up online. I just know hypnotism and brainwashing are two totally different things."

The conversation continued something like that, me being frightened and nerve-wracked and my father horrified, concerned, and confused. He did, in fact, look it up online, but no real information came up. I stayed for an hour or so after my sister returned home from school. She was mostly surprised to see me here and yet have no truck in the drive way. She was told the same as my father, and she believed it to be a joke. After some very long explanations, we convinced her of otherwise, and I haven't heard her speak a word since.

"Where now?" My dad asked just before I stepped out of the house. "Where will you go?"

I turned my head slowly. "I… I haven't a clue. Anyone who will listen, then _anywhere_ to hide. I'm scared, and I know this place is less than safe. He knows I'm here… somewhere here."

I had expected my sister to say something more, but she was in shock. Only my father spoke: "Snicker," and that was the final time I heard my nickname from him. I watched as he came forward, arms open wide, and held me tight. I ignored the ache, the pain, because I knew this would be the last moment I would see my father for, at least, an extremely long time.

Though the meeting was short-lived and seemed to be more of a struggle for understanding, I love my family dearly and they return the gesture tenfold. Had I not been so desperate to get to a safe place, I would have stayed or I would have wept.

I left my house and ran a ways down the road, my destination being my grandparents' house. To my right was a decent-sized field ending with the very forest I fell asleep in. I would have stopped and stared—and I almost did anyway—had I not seen that Ganondorf was _hell_ bent on finding me. His army of beasts was marching out of the woods in my direction. I should have left sooner.

The head Moblin raised his hand, pointed at me, and shouted something that meant "charge!" or "get her!"

My eyes widened as the mass of brown started sprinting at me. I heard my voice say "oh god" under my breath. I began at a full sprint once again and this time there was nowhere to hide. I made my way to the destination I had in mind and, fortunately, no one was home. I went to the shed, grabbed the key, ran to the front door, unlocked it, entered, and shut and locked the door behind me. In the silence of the empty house, I could hear the rumbling of the marching beasts coming my way. As the sound grew, I began to panic more and more. "God, help me…" I sprinted farther into the house up the stairs, and into a few rooms that used to be the rooms of their sons. I heard loud roars outside the window to the left of where I had stopped. They were close—far too close. "Oh god, oh god, oh god!" I was shaking as I backed away from the window into the wall across the way. I was trapped, and I knew it. I sat down, held my knees and cried as I could. I heard excited shouts, speaking of what their master would let the do to me. I heard angered shouts, attempts to coax me to surrender before I was beaten, killed, or worse. I heard more voices, however, speaking in a language I did not understand.

Suddenly, the voices were silenced. All I could hear was my quiet sob, the wind through the trees, and some slight rustling movement of armor and steel. I looked up as the silence ate away at me and my fear grew significantly. What was going on?

"You run, you try, you fight a battle you cannot win." I gasped to myself, surprised that the 'king' himself would be out and about to find me. "Come out, quietly, and I will let you forget this, and you can live a life without fear." He paused here, as if waiting for an answer. I gave him none, knowing that violence would be a large part of the alternative. "Let me warn you of one thing before you do anything rash," he began once more, "if you do not cooperate, I will be rid of you _permanently_." He laughed here. I could only hear all of this because one of the nearby windows was open. "Funny how easily wood burns. A giant fire could easily burn you from the bottom up, or its breath could suffocate you before the fire ever touched you. Neither was is a pleasant death: remember that." My jaw quivered at the intention of his words had. "My patience wears thin. It will last no more than five minutes. Think quickly."

It seemed I had little to no choice—be brainwashed to do one thing, then get left alone, or perish in a fire not unlike the one that took the Baudelaire parents. I stood and slowly made my way down the stairs and was almost to the front door when I glanced down the hallway. I was unarmed, but not for long. In one of the rooms, I knew there were different knives, a bow, and a couple guns. I was pathetic at using them, but I felt better with them anyway. I don't know why—I really don't—but those objects gave me the will to keep fighting. I took what I could, strapping the knives to any belt, putting the gun on my back and a few arrows in a quiver. I held the bow and carried it up the stairs again. I went to each window and looked out. No matter which angle I looked out, beasts surrounded it. I truly was trapped—unless I could lower the numbers somehow… but we all know that that would simple end in disaster. I looked around for anything else to help me, beginning to be frantic. I knew my five minutes was running dangerously low. I remained silent. Perhaps they would believe me to have not hidden here, but elsewhere and they would leave me alone.

"If you do not show yourself, I will start the fire myself!"

Of course not. Why would they leave me alone? I, to this day, am not sure what made the thought come into my mind, but I thought about one flaw the hero always had: never looking up. I looked at the roof, instantly surprised with myself. There was a trap door directly above my head. Considering how the ceiling was shaped, I could assume that it was going to lead me to the rooftop.

My ten seconds were up. I could tell because of the massive pillars of smoke rising up the stairs. I ran around the room, looking for something movable that was sturdy enough to hold my weight and light enough to move. The fires from below quickly began to spread, faster than the flames of a normal fire. This 'king' had to be using magic. Oh look! A desk….

Suddenly, I had an idea. I ran over to one of the cupboards, grabbed a large jar full of change and made my way to the desk I had moved. I climbed up it, put the jar on the roof, and climbed up myself. I didn't dare stand on the roof, so I sat, making me just low enough not to be seen behind the wall of flame. I raised the jar of change—which was heavier than I would have ever believed—over my head and threw it as far as I could. It landed in the pool, weighing down the pool cover and making an enormous splash, attracting the attention away from me. Hooray! Phase one is a success! Now on to phase two….

The beasts all made their way to the pool, hoping to trap me, I'm sure. I ran across the roof as quickly and inconspicuously as I could, and as my foot touched the edge of the roof, I jumped to the nearest branch of a large pine tree and hid against the trunk of the tree. Slowly and, more importantly, quietly, I made my way down the tree and onto a trail just on the outskirts of the woods. I was neither seen nor heard as I made my way away.

I knew the trails well in these woods. I've not seen them for years, but if they haven't changed too much, I'm certain I cold still navigate through them. "Alright, off to warn someone else…." I muttered to myself. Not to say that I did it all the time, but speaking to myself, or better yet, hearing a voice, a comforting voice, calms my nerves, even to this day. I made my way up the power lines and walked down the Old Homestead Highway until I reached Mill Road. Down this road was a house full of people close to the family. When I got down there, only the Mr. and Mrs. of the house answered the door. Apparently, the rest of the family had gone to Keene, and escaped the tragedy that was to, soon, fall upon their parents.

I will not go through how I told them my story and that they needed to hide. I will only tell you this: They were convinced and told me to get into their truck. We were going to get out of there—well, _I_ was, anyway.

I sat in the back seat while the Mr. and Mrs. sat in the front. There was quite a bit of noise as questions were asked and answered. We didn't make it too far down the street before we drove into the center of the beasts' army that day would have been the worst day of my 19-years of life, but so much has happened beyond this that this doesn't even begin to compare. The beasts were surprised with the machine, so began attacking it. In the short process, the Mr. and Mrs. of the house were… stabbed in the chest, to put it bluntly. Miraculously, the Mr.'s foot landed on the brake, keeping us from crashing. In the time it took us to stop, I was able to switch seats, put it into reverse and get through the mob. I quickly backed into a driveway and drove down the road and out of sight.

She heard a sound come from her window. It sounded like a knocking—a rhythmic three knocks, then a pause, then a repeat. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes and sat up in her bed. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the window. Someone was outside, but she couldn't see who. Swiftly and silently, she moved to her window and cautiously pulled up the shade. She couldn't see who was there; it was much too dark. Nevertheless, a friendly voice called her name in panic.

"Chelsea! Let me in, I need to talk to you!" It was Sam.

"Sam? What happened? Did you get kicked out of the house?" She didn't even have a hint of joke in her voice.

"Well… not exactly. Something happened a couple of nights ago, and I need to warn you, Nick, and Jake." Sam said.

"What? What happened? Warn us about what?"

"If you let me in, I'll explain. It won't take long if you keep an open mind." With those words, she ran back to the other side of the house as Chelsea navigated her dark house.

"Holy shit, holy shit…. This isn't just a prank, is it?"

"For the fifth time, no. I would never joke about something like this. "I told her. Chelsea had truly been freaking out—much like my sister except with a rambling of words rather than a lack of them. "I'm sorry I had you come with me; I'm just not trusting of this town anymore."

"No, no, don't worry about it! I'd prefer to be in charge of my own mind, too."

I smiled. "I must say, your dad took it quite well."

We both laughed at the memory. It was just after midnight when her dad woke up—well, got out of bed, rather—and when he did, he gave his best angry voice. "Chelsea, why are you awake?—Sam? Why are _you here_?"

I told him what was going on and he just turned around toward the bedroom. "Sam's going to warn Nick and Jake. May I go with her?" Chelsea had asked.

"Just don't get 'caught.'" He answered from down the hall. He fell asleep no more than three seconds later.

We decided to go to Nick's house first, then make our way to Jake's house so we may plan something together, in a safer manner.

We were on the road for about 30 minutes before we pulled into Nick's driveway. We circled the house, looking for Nick's window, and threw small stones and sticks up at the window. It took a few minutes, but we eventually woke him up, asked him to come down, and warned him of what was happening.

Nick's reaction was much different than I expected. His eyebrows raised in surprise and his lips curled into a smile. "What the hell?!"

"Come on! This isn't good! Stop acting like it!" Chelsea scolded before I could open my mouth to speak.

He turned to her. "But I've been waiting for this all my life!" He thrust his fisted left hand down into his open hand. "We need to rebel, and the time has come!"

"Good idea, except we're out-numbered 70,000,000, plus an army, to one." Chelsea retorted.

"Not yet we're not!" Nick pointed out.

"Nick, we'll discuss it when we get to Jake's, alright?" I hastily argued.

He sighed with slight annoyance. "Okay." Chelsea and I headed to the car. "Nick, get in." Chelsea demanded.

Nick spun around, surprised. He had been going into the house again. "You mean, right now?"

"Right now." I answered, opening the driver's side door.

After that, he was fairly quiet, asking only necessary questions here and there. We went from one end of Swanzey to the other in about 15 minutes. The hour was now almost 1:30 at dawn when we exited the car and went over to Jake's window. It was open, so no rocks were thrown at his window; we stood, watching the window as if the window would give us an answer. Finally, Chelsea looked from side to side and ran to the other end of the house near the garage. Nick and I exchanged glances before running after her. By the time we caught up, she was half way to the woodshed roof.

"Chelsea! What are you doing?" I whispered loud enough for her to hear.

She pulled herself onto the roof, then looked down. "Come on! Unless _you_ have a better idea."

Nick and I exchanged glances once more before Nick made his way onto the roof. I sighed and followed. The roof of the wood-shed was flat, so very easy to walk on, but the garage and the house roofs were slanted, fairly steeply, at least when we walked on it. By the time I made it to the window, Chelsea and Nick had already gotten Jake's attention.

"Come down and open the door! We've got something to tell you! It's urgent!" Chelsea said.

"Well, I'd hope it was urgent! Why are you here at this time of day?!" Jake asked, bewildered but still sleepily.

"Jake," I called his attention, which I quickly received, "get down there. What I have to tell you is extremely important." I turned and made my way down again. Jake met us at the front door which I saw him quietly shut.

Jake's face was grave. "What's happened?"

"2012 has begun." I answered.

His eyes narrowed in questioning. "2012? What do you mean?"

I went on to explain what had happened for the two days past. His eyes were critically watching me. Before he could ask or say anything, I inserted, "The fan blades have stopped."

Now, before I go on, let me explain this phrase. Basically, we say it to let each other know when we're telling the truth. How it came to be is still a mystery to me. Maybe I'll go ask someone about it….


	4. December 12, 2012

Chapter IV

December 12, 2012

"I suppose we have very little choice right now." Jake said almost glumly.

"So… we're rebelling?" Nick inquired.

"Jake gave a scrutinizing look at Nick. "Nick, think about it; if we rebel, it will be easier for him to find and capture us—and who knows what he'll do to Sam" he pointed at me here "for what she's done. If we rebel, people will end up being together, and will end up attracting attention."

"But if we could gather enough people, we could fight them off and—"

"I doubt it." I cut in. Chelsea, Jake, and Nick had been vociferously arguing in whisper and my voice had not yet been heard. I had been silent, listening and letting my mind work. Each person's head turned in my direction. "None of you have seen what I have, and I don't think you could begin to understand how desperate this situation is." I said worriedly.

"Well what do _you_ think we should do?" Nick replied.

"Fight!" Jake said.

"Rebel!" Nick argued.

"Run!" Chelsea answered.

No, none of these would work. We weren't powerful or strategic enough to do that, and I've already mentioned rebelling. Now running could work for a time, but to where? Where on earth would we go? "Hide." I responded.

They all turned to me and each said, "What" in a different manner, Nick upset and angry like, Jake confused like, and Chelsea sounded like she truly didn't hear me.

"We hide. It's the best option we've got so far."

"Now, explain how, if nothing else will work, how this will."

I explained the reasons against Nick and Jake's plan as I did above. Chelsea's option was decent, but I mentioned that once the USA was brainwashed, we'd have to leave, and _then_ where would we go? Mexico? Europe? Asia? _Australia?!_ I was absolutely certain Ganondorf would not stop with the USA; after all, he wanted to be the ruler of the world. To do that, you start with the strongest or the most vulnerable country. Right now, the US was the perfect victim.

"But where on earth do we hide? The sewer system of New York City?!" Chelsea blurted out just above a whisper.

"No, crack-head, we hide in the White House!" Jake said as an attempt to add humor to the situation.

"It won't be white for very long…." I continued. We got into a lengthy conversation about what the world would be like and the humor of it. Now, I see no humor; just death.

Suddenly, I had an idea. "Jake! What about the woods?"

He gave me a 'duh,-that's-not-going-to-work' kind of look. "Well, if they navigated your woods so well, I'm certain they won't have a problem with these woods—especially with an _army_"

"But what about the church? Would that work?" I inquired.

Jake opened his mouth, as if he was about to retort, but the room became silent. Yes! I won! "I don't see why not…."

"Good. We leave as soon as possible." I said, standing up.

Jake looked at me. "You mean, right now?"

(Nick laughed at the repetition in phrases.)

"As soon as we can. First, though, it's probably a good idea that we plan for quite a long stay."

"Like, how long?" Nick asked.

"If all goes well, for perhaps a couple years. I would like not to have to survive here, in a world of _zombies_, basically. If we could escape his grasp entirely…."

"How?" It was in unison.

I shook my head. "I don't know. Hopefully, I'll have time to think about it while we hide."

We packed blankets, food, necessary books to tell of edible plants and wilderness survival tactics, any weapons we could carry, money (just in case), and a few personal trinkets, for me, it was this journal and one other. We decided we would return for necessary clothing and proper storage.

For those of you who are unaware, New Hampshire can be a disturbingly hot state in the summer and a freezing cold state in the winter. The coldest it's been in the past is -47°. We hoped for our lives the winters upcoming wouldn't be as cold as that. It was a long peace in the small community of four after we got over the losses of the past and of the future.

We hadn't the time to start growing crops until late autumn, so a garden was an impossibility. We ended up stealing food from whoever we could and hunted whatever we could. Throughout the fall, we survived on edible fungus, fruit, and vegetation. It was not as bad as one would think, but I quickly began to miss home. The church was nothing more than a little area surrounded by tight-standing trees and shrubbery. In the center, there was a hill that burst upward on one side and slowly ran down to every other. Here we dug out an area and made a shelter before winter ran its icy fingers through the soil. It had a place for a fire and dried hay we brought from a farm nearby was laid down in a corner as a means of extra comfort. Blankets always lay in a heap on the ground nearby to the hay. There were two boxes on the other end of the room, one containing food and the other clothes. The boxes did no more than keep pesky rodents and insects out.

I had not recently seen Kevin, nor did I have the courage (or did not dare risk) speaking to his parents. I spoke to Jake about it one day, and he couldn't give me any advice I wanted to hear.

"I don't know what I can tell you. Really, you must figure this out on your own; make your own decisions."

"But I'm worrie3d my decision will be the wrong one; like this decision." I expanded my arms to explain that I meant coming to the church.

While my arms were expanded, he took the opportunity to take me into an embrace, which also meant being picked up off the ground. "Sam, listen to me. You are the one person—of all of us—who knows and can judge our situation. We will help you, but your opinion is the strongest." He smiled at me. "You are our wisdom. We need that in this brutal society."

Admittedly, this was no coincidental phrase. I always closely related myself with Zelda—when I was younger, pretended to be her, escaped and played with Chelsea, and pretended what we were, now experiencing. I felt that I was wise, in some ways, and I like to help others using that wisdom. However, I do not see myself as wiser than those older than me, nor those younger tan me, but whatever wisdom I can share I would.

Winter came quickly and lasted quite some time. It was rough, but with our burrow, the fire place and the wood collected the season before, the blankets, the clothing, and the four of us together, heat was not on issue. During the day, Jake hunted, mostly fowl and burrowing animals, Nick collected, melted and cleaned snow to drink, collected wood, and sometimes cooked the lunch. Chelsea with Nick, gathered wood, and alone gathered edible veggies or fungi. I, on the other hand, tended to stay at he church, frightened to step away, and cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner (unless Jake insisted otherwise). I also cleaned, made sure it wasn't obvious that we lived where we did, and washed clothes needed to be washed and hung them near the fireplace. The rest of the necessary chores were either shared or swopped between people, such as the early morning adventures to Keene to learn the news and keep up to date. Wednesday, December 12, 2012 was one of those days.

Many people, I was certain, would know of us—or, me, rather—so we dressed in a "disguise" and never left the woods from the airport. Jake and Chelsea wore their trench coats, hiding their hair in a hat. I wore a hoodie that covered my eyes and changed the shape of my body, a pair of gloves, some baggy jeans, and a pair of boots. Nick, though against my wishes, dressed fairly openly. He wore a dark blue hoodie sweatshirt, a pair of jeans and some converse. He looked less conspicuous, but with people like Jungle Dave walking around, a couple in trench coats and a couple hoodies weren't suspicious.

Chelsea and Nick washed close together, holding hands, and I walked with Jake by default…ish. Jake was always getting distracted by me, and I sometimes was oblivious—especially since the twelfth and thirteenth of June.

Suddenly, I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. Jake saw it too, and his hand slid from over my shoulder to my hop and pulled me close. I was surprised by his action, and looked up to see him smiling and gazing into my eyes. He leaned down and said, "I love you."

This action was not surprising to me, and I accepted the gesture for not the first tome on that day. We had become very close to each other, as the other two of us had. We were staring at each other, standing beneath a tree as Chelsea and Nick continued on without us. We would have stood there and lost Nick and Chelsea in the crowd, had it not been for an eerily familiar voice.

"I thank all those who contributed to my success." As luck would have it, we stood in front of a store with a television that was broadcasting the presidential inauguration. There stood the 'king,' surrounded by personnel of the media, security guards, and hundreds of thousands of fans, including a couple previous presidents and some competition for the place in office. I shivered at the sound of the King of Evil's voice, and Jake pulled me closer in protection, almost as if this 'king' would sense me—even see me—through the television. "I will raise this country until it is the strongest nation to have ever risen to power."

A female pulled the microphone away briefly to that her question could be heard. "And how, the public wonders, do you plan to accomplish such a task? Many have spoken these words, but how do you set yourself aside from them?"

He smiled a smile any sane person would wince at. "Such plans are surprises to the public. It will be their reward for such kindness. But I promise you, I have my ways. I am unlike any ruler you have before seen."

Nothing but truth rests with these words. Nor has the world anywhere seen a ruler like him. A crowd gathered around television. I gripped Jake's hand tightly as the 'king' looked into the camera, seemingly at me. Jake called Chelsea and Nick, but I hardly heard it.

"What will be your first step, your highness?" She asked.

"Highness? Our world is falling apart…." Chelsea's voice came from my left.

I shushed her, reminding her that many in this world were either with or against the power of evil, and what happened to the black-haired girl.

"Perhaps we ought to return home." Nick stated seeing the crowd gather round their new ruler.

"Not just yet." I said. Though I was uncomfortable and wanted to leave, I wanted to know what it was he intended to do next.

He chuckled at the name given, as if he hadn't expected the people to start calling him that. "Highness! I… I am flattered, I must say!" He cleared his throat as both he and the media lady regained professional composure. "My first step, you ask?—and am I to assume you imply my first step 'in office?'" There was a pause as, I assume, the woman nodded or in some other way agreed. "I shall eliminate any dangers to the nation, make sure that my people prosper, above all, and snuff out the terrorists within the nation and be rid of them."

The crowd cheered as I winced and hid my face in Jake's chest. I wish I hadn't stayed to listen, but now, as I write, I only wish that I had taken a more careful heed to his unconscious warning.

"Come on, Sam. It's time for us to go." Jake assured.

I looked up and nodded. The last thing I heard as we left was a cheering crowd and, "Well, that is quite a step. Your nation will support you, no matter what it takes," from the woman of the media.

I suppose you wonder why the end of the world was December 12, 2012. For a few reasons; first, it was the day of the presidential inauguration. Secondly, it was the day the nation sold its soul to this man, and finally and most importantly, Ganondorf did not enter office on January 20th, like he was going to. He entered office on the same date the Mayans predicted those thousands of years ago. Ganondorf had gone so far as to brainwash even Obama to give his presidency to him. However, this is only the beginning.


	5. Sacred Grounds Tainted

Chapter V

Sacred Grounds Tainted

There are, here in New England, truly only three seasons: before winter, winter, and after winter. Summer is hardly existent, and spring is typically cold until summer starts. Late in spring, we began planting vegetables that would never be eaten. The seeds for these vegetables were received from a nearby farm, a small family that had not been touched by the dark shadow Ganondorf cast upon the land. They, too, were against him and his place as president. We seldom spoke to them, but we did small amounts of business with them. To receive the seeds, we gave them a turkey for Thanksgiving in the fall. To gain the blankets, we offered services of wood gathering and stacking for a day or so. I did not know them well, for Jake did much of the conversing. They, many a time, have invited us to stay for dinner, and the only day we agreed was Christmas Night. We ate ham and mashed potatoes and berry pie….

But I digress, for all I hope to do is present our relationship in this Evil Realm. We were always there for each other. However, though we knew where they lived, they never knew—nor did they ask—where in the woods we lived. The late spring was kind to us, and "we the 'four' people" did not leave the woods again until late summer. Not much happened until mid-June, only one year since the capture.

Not to say I was walking around in open public at this time, but I seriously doubted that Ganondorf would find me, or my friends. I hadn't heard of him since 12-12-12. I had the guts to walk around the woods where I was interested to go, and since the brainwashing began, very few people had entered the forest. One day, at about noon-time, I ventured out into the woods, coming across a small pond-like area beneath a fifteen-foot cliff where a thin waterfall fell. It was clear enough here for the sun to grow the grass on the ground and raise the vines up rocks. The whole place seemed so pure and magical. Beyond that, it was the first place that I had found clean, moving water. We, for the remaining days we remained in the woods used this water in place of the questionable swamp-water elsewhere. It was a miracle we never grew ill beforehand.

I had not bathed in a long while, so I decided that summertime—the warmest months of the year—was a better time than most to do so. Of course, details aren't necessary, but I will tell you that bathing was not the extent of what I did there. I thought about family, lost friends, and how the future could be totally destroyed (since thinking of a perfect future is nearly impossible).

One day—in fact, June twelfth of 2013, one year later—I was standing beneath the waterfall, thinking of all of these things as the sound was drowned away by rushing water. I must have sat there for an hour and a half before I snapped out of my subconscious river of thought. I hardly noticed my tears with all the water on my face. I stepped forth from the falls, slowly making my way to the shore in the waste deep water. I picked up the towel I brought and put on my sandals.

Suddenly, a realization came to mind; I was in a forest—untouched by the cloud Ganondorf spread across the land—and yet the songs of the woods had vanished. The birds fell silent, the winds had died, and even the rhythm of the falls was hesitant. I looked around for the disruption in the woods' serenity.

"Trees and wind, tell me what ails you?" I whispered quietly enough for only those I called to hear.

Quietly and lightly, the wind blew through the leaves and pointed me to my right. There, in the darkness of the leafy canopy and curtain of vines and bushes, there stood a creature, black as ink with something crimson flicking back and forth. I took the only steps closer I dared to see the figure. As I got closer, it snorted, much like a horse. I froze as I realized this and saw the figure upon the creature. For so long, I had been safe, and when I finally let my guard down….

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" The usurping president spurred his horse forward through the bushes and around me. I was totally speechless at this assault. "I must say, it is a _pleasure_ to happen across _you_ this day, one year later." He grinned slyly here. "Of course, it seemed so calm and serene. I knew you would find your way here, if for nothing else, the peace." I slowly backed away as my mind tried working off the shock. He dismounted his horse and advanced me. "The situation I found you in… well, I'm sure neither of us expected it."

I noted the distance between he and his horse and I hoped dearly that the dash for it I planned on making would work. Just before he came in reach of me, I bolted toward the church. Hope beyond all hope that Chelsea, Nick, and Jake were inside.

Looking back upon this, I, and I'm sure those reading this, wonder what good it was to dash off in a dress with sandals, through the woods. Well, if the object was to make it to the church, I succeeded.

I darted between trees and through bushes, zigzagging off trails, and weaving around swamps and areas of poison ivy. Finally, I made it to the clearing where we dug out our home and settled for the past year. I halted myself before the habitation was decipherable; I didn't want my friends to be found, and I realized I wanted that more than I didn't want to get captured. Slowly, I turned and faced the King of Evil. His horse came trotting up to me, stopping about twenty feet away. The king dismounted and began forward again.

He grinned. "Some say the eye is a window to one's soul. If such be true, I can see the loss and failure that haunts it. You've already given up." He was taunting me.

I didn't move, nor flinch at his acidic voice. "I will not come with you. You will either have to kill me or drag me away." I said, my voice faltering part way through.

His smile melted away, but I wouldn't call him angry. "Do not worry; I shall not kill you, but, rather, it shall be my pleasure to…" he paused, looking for the right words, "…ease your pain." He said ominously. He had stopped his advance upon me when I spoke against him, but when he said the last three words, he began forward once more.

I backed away a few steps, my gut absolutely begging for me to escape, but my mind and heart knew that to expose my friends meant a total loss of hope, for both them and me…. Yet….

…the gods—or goddesses—if either exist—were on my side….

Ganondorf walked forward, just as he had been, one minute and the next, he was thrown backwards, to the ground. My eyes widened when I realized that I was still on my feet and he had been blocked from me. He sat in surprise for a brief moment before he stood and began to summon a ball of black magic in his hand. I prepared for the worst, but the same barrier that had pushed him away absorbed the magic and remained unchanged.

Ganondorf glared at the wall even his magic could not surpass. "So, the goddesses have found favor against me even so far away…." He shut his eyes and held his hands outward to his sides. He muttered a few words as great spheres of light, one blue of frost and one red of fire. "…desses, show me that which cannot be seen!" His voice suddenly grew from nothingness until it was a roar, as he threw his hands in the air, setting free the magic. These balls of light, which challenged the light in brightness of the sun with their own, flew high up, swirling around each other until they were out of sight—but only for a second. They, soon, came rushing down, just over our home, and yet they never hit it. Just as they had been swirling around each other, so too did they swirl down, over, and around the magical barrier. It illuminated it with the blue and red color, quickly making the barrier a transparent mauve color. I looked around myself, surprised at the magic I was seeing. The barrier must have expanded at least twice that distance, our home being the center of the protective dome.

When I glanced back at Ganondorf, a grin crossed his face. "Your Gods don't seem to favor you, and, though mine do, the only favor you receive traps you here."

This worried me. "I can't leave?"

He laughed at my ignorance. "You may leave, but…" at his pause, the forest almost disappeared through the black portals that suddenly appeared, bringing with them an army of beasts—moblins, wolfos, kargarocks, keese, lizalfos, and so many more— "…well, you see the dilemma."

I watched as the monsters surrounded me from all sides. I knew it was pointless to leave my friends here, trapped, while I escaped (and just for how long, anyway?). "Damn."

"So now you understand you predicament, it will be soon time to learn your place." The president stated.

I looked at him with hard eyes. "I am safe here. You won't ever take me away. Are you as patient as we are?"

He seemed interested by something. "'We?'" There was a wide grin on his face.

I tried to keep my face the same. "Freudian Slip," I whispered to myself to ease my guilt (hoping he knew not what a Freudian slip is), "the trees, the wind—we." I said, acting almost transcendental in my situation. It was a good cover up, since I had lived in the woods, supposedly alone, for the past year.

He shook his head. "Know, girl, that a lie will get you nowhere."

I sarcastically smiled. "I wasn't going far."

The beasts were surprised at my remark, and the king never stopped me or even spoke to me as I turned and made my way to our home.


	6. Life in the Dome

Chapter VI

Life in the Dome

Oh glorious day, that twelfth of June! The same day I was miraculously saved from the enemy we had been hiding from for a year now, I was trapped within the dome of magic, now visible for all to see, _and_ I had to reveal this to all of my friends. I will tell you that was not a simple task.

I pulled back the door to find Chelsea, Nick, and Jake all sitting on the floor playing "Apples to Apples" (which we also smuggled with us). Can you guess what card was laying on the floor?

"Frightening; scary, chilling, arousing fear." Jake read.

"Oh, I've got a good one for this!" Chelsea said, rather loudly.

"Hey, Sam, would you like to join?" Jake said when he saw me.

"Well, I…" my mind formulated an idea that allowed me to say little to nothing, and yet say everything, "…sure. Can I join this round?"

"Yeah. Grab some red cards."

I began searching for a specific card; a "make your own" red apple card. My friends didn't seem to care that I was going through the deck like this, which was helpful. Finally, I found one, grabbed a pencil, and wrote down two words; GANONDORF DRAGMIRE.

I threw it in and Jake shuffled the cards. The first card: "Raptors." Everyone but me laughed and agreed. The second card: "Fruit." Everyone (including me this time) glanced at Nick.

Finally, he read my card. "Ganondorf Dragmire?" He asked. "Well, that's pretty good, but I have to go with 'raptors.'"

"Yes!" Chelsea began to grab the card.

"Raptors aren't outside." I answered simply, my voice briefly dying.

They all looked at me and realized what I was saying. They all stood and, had I not stopped them, would have rushed outside

"Guys, don't go outside." I warned.

"why not? Don't they know we're here?" Nick asked.

"Please, let me explain. We're protected in a barrier that I think we can enter and exit, but evil cannot. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to lead him here; I got scared and didn't know what else to do or where to go…. B-but that's not important; he knows _I'm_ here, and has surrounded the barrier with a Moblin army. I didn't tell him of you, however." I sighed. "If I am taken, he will know nothing of you and you could continue to live here happily."

"No, Sam…" Nick began as Jake took a peek out the door.

"We would never forgive ourselves if that happened." Chelsea said.

"You're right; we are surrounded, from every side even above." Jake stated. "That bastard is still out there, too." He turned to us to continue speaking. "We're trapped, half of our garden is outside of the protective barrier, and we won't be able to hunt… although…" Jake's face seemed to light up like a light bulb, "…we may be able to use the beasts to our advantage."

Nick, Chelsea, and I all looked at each other before asking, "How?"

"I'm now curious as what Wolfos meat taste like." He grinned, showing his sharp canine teeth.

We three looked at each other again, and then smiled. "They can't touch us, but we can touch them. The least we can do is us our resources to their fullest!" Nick said.

"Let's go Wolfos hunting!" Jake shouted.

"Yeah!" Chelsea responded, grabbing some weapons.

Needless to say, they didn't hide themselves. They barged outside and looked around for the King of Evil—after all, they hadn't met him yet. They found him and made their way to him.

Ganondorf saw my friends approaching him and directed words to me, who trailed hesitantly behind. "'We: the trees, the wind?'" He raised an eyebrow. "Which are the trees and which is the wind?"

"I'm most definitely a tree." Jake offered to his sarcastic remark

"And if anyone's the wind it's going to be me." Nick added, a smirk crossing his face.

Ganondorf wasn't impressed with their answer. "I will leave you alone to live your lives as you please if you give me that girl." He pointed at me at his phrasing.

"Not a chance, Jack-ass." Chelsea said.

All were surprised. Ganondorf's humorless face grew almost grey in anger and surprise and his eyes went from their ominous gold to a deep maroon. He said nothing in retort, however. Chelsea was unmoved, but stern by her own words. Jake and Nick both stood y her, supporting every last syllable of the phrase. The army of monsters unsheathed their swords and began yelling (roaring, squawking, hissing, howling, screeching, and other such sounds) in challenge and retort. I gulped, my eyes widening with my fear. My eyes glanced from the king to his army and back again. 'Jack-ass?' Did she really have to go that far?

He turned to the Moblin just behind him. It was clad in black armor and armed in many weapons to kill and even slowly torture. Its fur was dark brown, opposing the almost gold and maroon color of every other Moblin. He placed a sphere in the monster's hand. "Capture the girl. I don't care what you do with the other three; kill them, eat them, torture them, I do not care! Just get the girl. Tell me when you have her and _don't let her go!_" He mounted his horse and, before leaving, he added, "Do not fail me. You know the consequences for such insubordination." And with that, he disappeared into the woods.

So, they met the king. I think my friends were mostly cocky because of that damned barrier. If they were that cocky without a barrier, I would have killed them if Ganondorf didn't get to it first. My days seemed limited—and my friends' days seemed numbered with lower digits. Everyday was frightening and the days had grown darker and less peaceful. We lived off of only half of our garden's worth of food and whatever meat we could get from the Kargarocks and Wolfos. We didn't trust Lizalfo meat or Moblin meat since we had little water or herbs to was it with and, alive, they smelled like rotting corpses. The Keese were too small to kill, let alone eat for a decent dinner. Jake created a spear with strong rope in the end so he may throw the spear, kill the wolfo, and drag it into the barrier. The monsters seldomly stopped us since their king wanted me alive—for what reason I am still not quite certain. Once the beast was dead, it easily came through the barrier. The intentions of evil and the dark soul were not, at that point, a part of the monstrous body.

Once in a while, Ganondorf would "grace us with his presence." There was one day in specific that I remember. It must have been harvest season, because the vegetables and fruits we had were ready to be harvested and eaten. A couple of Moblins were taking some of the food in the garden that was outside of the dome. Chelsea and Nick were trying to ward them off by yelling or pointing sticks and throwing rocks at them. They only laughed, which did nothing but spark the gunpowder that was my fear into a fire that way my anger. Speaking of gunpowder, where's the rifle…?

Yep, that's what I did. I went into the shelter, opened the weapon chest, and grabbed one of the guns I had learned to use. I loaded it, walked out of the shelter, and readied the gun. As I did, I saw one of the Moblins grab the stick and swing my friends to the ground. I raised the gun, aimed, and fired at the laughing Moblin. I struck true, pushing me back a step and surprising all in the woods. The expression on my face never wavered, never changed and never lightened. The Moblin's eyes widened in surprise and pain and his laugh bubbled until it was a gurgle of him choking on his own blood. In five seconds, he was laying on the ground, dead. As soon as he hit the ground, all was quiet. Nick and Chelsea stood up and looked at me, frightened by my sudden anger. Jake came around the corner, spear and rope in hand, expecting someone dead and totally surprised at the sight my me holding a gun billowing with smoke. The Keese and Kargarocks fled to nearby trees at the strange sound, Lizalfos, Moblins, and Wolfos froze in surprise, and the president—the magic wielding usurping king—turned and looked at the girl who had the guts to fire the first shot of the war Koume and Kotake spoke so fondly of.

When I turned to meet his gaze, I was sure that I saw a reflection of my own eyes in his. His were burning with rage, a rage that would have arisen fear in any had it not been for me being just as angry as he.

"We have let you kill for food, so that you may live. What gives you the right to kill when you feel the need?" It was a whisper—one I would have like to entirely silence.

"A great many things, you arrogant bastard!" Everyone gasped—besides Ganondorf and me—at my foolish remark. "I am more at a right to kill as I feel I need than _you_! I have been hunted for a year, your men relentlessly killing those between you and me, making my heart beat so fast I feel I might die, constantly diminishing any hope to live that I might have! And all those I cared about are either with me now or otherwise brainwashed or dead."

"Don't be so certain, girl."

"It is the only thing I am certain of!" I returned in an angry, childish scream. "I hate not being certain of the next day. I _hate_ wondering if I'm going to be alive the next day, or in the tight grasp you have everyone _else_ in. But do you know what I hate the most?"

"You will tell me even if I wish otherwise, won't you?"

"Yes, I will. I hate what your damned witches predicted. They _labeled_ me, and now I have little other choice but to live up to that label. If it wasn't for them, I could be safe elsewhere, I could be happy, which, by the way, it's a feeling I have been without for months –I may not even remember what happiness feels like!"

"If you left the dome, perhaps I could bring it to you."

I stood shaking my head, on the verge of breaking into hysterics. "You ignorant son of a bitch." I began to walk back when I turned back and, pointing the gun loosely the king. "And for the record, I did kill for food. Keep you animals out of my garden. I _will_ shoot them" I turned and continued away.

"Your garden is outside of the barrier. My 'animals' will do as they—"

My temper got the best of me. I turned, raised the gun and fired again, a quick aim for his head. I missed by six inches, if that, and hit a Lizalfo between the eyes. As the Lizalfo screamed in agony and fell to the ground, Ganondorf's horse reared up on its back two legs, kicking a Wolfo or two in the head, knocking them unconscious or killing them. Ganondorf remained still, never having moved from that spot.

I pointed the gun up in the air and blew the tip, just to add that Hollywood pizzazz. "Next time, I _won't _miss." With that, I walked into the shelter, my friends following quickly behind.

That was my only outburst in the time that I was in the dome. I never needed to protect the garden again, but more than that, I felt despicable. I didn't, and to this day don't, like how I sounded. It was cruel, dangerous, and even murderous. That scared me, and what was worse was that it scared Nick, Chelsea, and Jake.

God, if there is a god, pleas help us. Or more importantly, help them, because we all know I'm a lost cause, even now, outside of the dome. Help them.

Winter came again, and we were quickly running out of supplies. Wood was depleting, crops were gone, and the beasts became much more resistant to our attacks, whether by Ganondorf's orders or their own insane minds. Everyday Ganondorf returned, he would speak to me, attempting to convince me to leave, but when, if ever he begins to succeed, my friends stop me themselves. By the time 12-12-13 came along, Koume and Kotake had begun to visit regularly. They, too, did what they could to lure me out of the dome, but I remember what they did to me. I would not give them the pleasure of being better than the king.

Then Christmas Eve was upon us.

**A/N: So, if any have any suggestions, please let me know. I plan, later, to save some people later on. If you want to be saved, I will save you gladly. (No, I am not god). But, also, if there's something you want me to fix or add, let me know. Critiques are welcome, and gratefully accepted. I like hearing feedback. Thank you for reading!**


	7. Changing Sides

Chapter VII

Changing Sides

A/N: I think this chapter could be rated somewhere between T and M simply because of some rather frightening things that occur. If people have a gifted imagination, I simply suggest caution. There's no death or much of any violence, but there's a lot of sad stuff by the end. Don't worry, it'll lighten up… eventually….

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

Twelve new instruments,

Eleven days to relax,

Ten Keese a-killéd,

Nine games to play,

Eight logs for fire,

Seven brand new pencils,

Six days with family,

Five happy days,

Four friends to play with,

Three…something….

Two helpings of stew,

And one angry King of Evil.

We caroled like this the night before Christmas, and all through the… never mind.

We placed the gifts for the morning under a tree just outside the shelter. I had given Nick a new fur blanket, soft from washing with melted snow and dried near the fire. I gave Chelsea a bracelet with beads of protection (hey, something's better than nothing). To Jake I had planned to give one of the knives he admired. The reason I tell you this is because I never saw my friends open them. They did, I can tell you, but what they thought of each gift is still a mystery, as is what my friends got for me. As you may have previously guessed, this eve is the last night I lived in the dome. I wonder how the place fares this day.

We four slept in the dome together from left to right, Jake, me, Nick, then Chelsea. It was warm that night with the fire roaring and warm blankets and pelts. I dreamed that night, a frightening dream, one I shall not ever forget, no matter how hard I may try…

"My beautiful little Princess…." My father was calling me. I opened my eyes and saw nothing.

Darkness.

I could only see myself and the blanket that lay over me with detail. Nothing else seemed to show. But I was not afraid. It really isn't until I awaken before I fear this dream.

"Where are you?" I asked so softly I'm not even sure I heard myself.

"Come, my child, come, follow my voice." He said. So I stood up and stepped away from the blanket, moving and waving in strange ways. There were no corners in the darkness, but I turned as if there were. I felt many textures below my feet and a strange wind in my face.

"Where am I?"

"On the outskirts. A wonderfully happy place awaits you. I will lead you there when you find me." His voice echoed through my mind. "It'll be like paradise."

Soon, very soon, I saw my father standing, still in the darkness. He smiled a strange smile. There was something weird about this. It was almost menacing, almost triumphant. But why?

He stretched his hand out, asking for my hand without speaking the words. "Will you come with me?"

His hand seemed impatient, as if it just wanted to reach out, grab my wrist and drag me to whatever location it was we were going. I stared at his hand for a long time.

"Why, don't you trust me?" His voice was laced with some sort of artificial emotion, and at his phrasing I didn't want to trust him. But he was my dad, my parent and closest family member. And trust was always a topic with him; he always wanted people to trust him unless he gave them a reason not to. He was hurt when not trusted. Needless to say, I didn't know what to do.

"Well… you—" I looked from his hand to his eyes, which was what made me speechless. He was born with blue eyes, a serene twin lake, but they were different. The looked like two bright orbs of gold, a more snake-like reflection of my two eyes in anger. I shook my head uttering "no" a few times.

Something sharp was pushed against my back and I felt suddenly heavier, like I was falling. The man before me no longer held his hand out, but stood up straight and only gave a small smirk of success. He quickly faded away….

I opened my eyes, falling to my knees suddenly. It was dark, but lantern-light made certain details easily visible, such as the menacing faces I was seeing in front of me, the trees to every side of me, and the dome bending away from me. I heard the King of Evil laugh, which, without the barrier, struck fear into me almost instantly. I looked for the barrier, and when I saw it, I jumped to my feet and tried to get there. The monsters all tried getting a hold of me, all failing. Just as my arm seemed to be swallowed by the mauve barrier, I was yanked back by a strong hand that grabbed my hair. I screamed as the pain spread across my skull and my freedom was taken from me. "No! No! Please, don't do this!"

The King turned me around to face him and nonchalantly asked, "Now where on Earth do you think you are going?"

I was so scared and so confused, I didn't know what to do or what to say. All I could manage was "Please, please don't."

He seemed surprised by my fear. "The girl to start a war. Have I frightened you?" His grip never loosened as he remarked such a false sympathy. I wanted to cry.

"What did you do to me?" My voice shakily said.

"Did someone have a magic-induced nightmare?" He was amused. I was scared and still very confused. As I continued to piece the pieces of the puzzle together, Ganondorf looked up, seeing three horrified figures standing as still and stone. He turned me around jaggedly so I may see them and they may see me.

"Sam!" Jack cried, moving forward very quickly. Nick and Chelsea had to run up to him and pull on him with all of their strength to stop him from leaving the dome. "What are you going to do with her?!"

"You cannot even guess? What have I done to so many others?"

"Captured them." Chelsea answered.

"Killed them." Nick added.

"Brainwashed them." Jake said in a final way. He and I knew well what would happen to me.

My captor's free hand brushed my chin to my cheek as if he was enjoying a prize he deserved. "This girl's mind is so young and so vigorous. I would prefer not to brainwash her…" He pulled my head backwards making me let out a scream, "…if that was a possibility."

"Then what?" Jake asked.

"That is none of your concern."

Ganondorf turned and began walking away, me still in his death grip. "No, you don't tell me what is and isn't my concern. She is my friend; anything that happens to her is our concern!" He said, gesturing to Nick, Chelsea, and himself. "You had _better_ remember that, you—"

A dagger was put to my throat so quickly, I was rendered confused yet again. Jake was silenced instantly. His eyes were burning a black abyss, but he knew that he could do nothing. "You see, boy, although I cannot harm you for your insolence, I can harm _her_." At that word, the dagger was harshly pressed against my throat. I winced, and all of my friends moved forward, wanting so badly to help me.

"No!" They all stopped at my yell. "No, don't. It won't help anything."

Chelsea was fuming. Nick was tense. Jake was on the verge of crying. It hurt me to see them like this, but, then again, it must have hurt them to see me like this.

"Wise words from a wise child. Once you leave this dome, you'll never return. This I promise you." He cast me aside into a Lizalfo's arms. I was held tightly by the wrist, watching the dark magician weave his magic. He held his hand before him, which emanated darkness. It swirled like a vortex of black magic, hungry for a young soul to feed upon. It was three our four feet taller than Ganondorf.

I didn't notice my friends' reaction, but I knew for sure that I was scared. My mind was racing, almost keeping up with my beating heart. My jaw quivered as my mind begged me to beg for freedom. I tried hard to pull my arm free, wincing at his grip and whining at my failure. I did not stop, nor plan to stop, until I was forced to.

"Calm her down." I hardly heard the command, or the warning my friends were shouting; my mind was working too hard, too fast, and too loudly for me to comprehend anything except the need to get away. Suddenly, I felt me loose control of my body just before I registered the sharp pain on the lower back part of my head. All grew dark instantly and I fell unconscious, held up only by my wrist….

For those of you who already understand what happened to me, you may skip this section. However, for those who are just as confused as I was, I shall save you a year's worth of distasteful memories to look over and words to reunderstand. What this cruel man did to me was horrific, something not even the barrier could withstand. Within my sleep, Ganondorf began whispering words into my mind. He used my position to his advantage, leaving me vulnerable and unaware. He had, earlier, met my dad, from whom he took the voice and began calling to me. This was the start of his magic spell. He lured me outside, somehow leading me out of the shelter and outside of the dome. This is why I was zigzagging and turning so often. He didn't show me the corners, but I knew the way because he made it so. When my father appeared before me, I had stepped outside of my protection and was outside the barrier, confronting the King of Evil. It was his hungry hand that reached out, his calling words masked by my father's voice, his golden eyes. When I fell in my dream, I was waking up, disoriented and lost. He had put me into such a deep state of sleep that I walked in my sleep. I left the shelter and walked out of the dome.

And this is why I call him the King of Evil.

I awoke slowly, my heart slowly beating at first, but quickening as my situation was made clear. I was sitting in a chair with thick armrests where my arms involuntarily rested. Both my arms and legs were bound to this chair, this tall, throne-like chair. Besides my upper body and head, I could not move. I could not leave… wherever it was that I was. When my senses came more vividly, I could see the rope binding my arms and ankles. I tugged at the binds, lightly at first, then with all I could. The room was wide and long, I at the far end of it. My head began to throb and pound painfully. I shouldn't have moved so much. I winced at the headache. I could not ease at the touch of my hand. Not only did my head hurt, but I also felt abnormally tired.

"Are you truly awake this time?" The voice was too familiar, all too unkind. My head automatically shot up, as if the King of Evil still held my hair tightly. There he sat on a throne of his own. Yet his throne wasn't a… real, solid throne from what I could tell. It just seemed to be a black cloud of fog and mist on which he sat. A seat was visible connected to a back and two arm rests. The rest was cloudy and seemed to blur away—whether it was because of my head having been hit previously, I do not know now. It doesn't matter because Ganondorf soon stood and the throne disintegrated at the flick of his wrist. "Good. Now, let us get to business."

I held my head up and tried to be as brave as I could. "Business is hardly what I'd call it."

He chuckled almost amiably. "Of course. Perhaps a more appropriate term would be 'ceremony.'"

I grimaced, lowering my head just slightly.

"But, before that happens, I believe there is someone you should meet…" He rounded the chair to its back, giving a clear vision room where I was to the door. And there stood someone I had not expected to see ever again, and now I hope I never do see again. There stood the person to first witness my capture.

There stood Kevin Gonzalez, smiling almost ominously with eyes as dark as a silhouette.

I stared at him for a bit of time, not believing in the least who it was that was there. When it finally struck me, I could only gasp and say, "Kevin?"

He approached me the rest of the way and placed his hands on mine, leaning forward so he was only an inch away from me. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" and before I could get words out of my mouth, he kissed me. "It's really too bad we didn't get a chance to spend more time with each other."

I was surprised by the kiss, but even more by his being here. "What are you _doing_ here?!"

"I am here to loyally help my master." He answered, glancing at the King, who still stood behind me.

I winced at the thought. "First of all, you aren't even a resident of this country; he has no power over you!"

"I understand this," he said, nodding.

"Stop listening to him! He's brainwashed you! You can fight it!" I shouted almost desperately. I had leaned as far forward as I could manage, struggling at my binds again.

He only laughed. This confused me; why would he laugh like that? "Oh dear, I suppose there is a bit of a misunderstanding, isn't there…?" he spoke differently than usual. He pushed some of my hair behind my ear. "You see, I'm not brainwashed." He said grinning.

"He would have brainwashed you to not know you were brainwashed! Please listen to—"

"He speaks the truth, my dear." Ganondorf began, moving around the chair to my front, just behind Kevin. "I haven't touched this boy's mind, and Twinrova only made him fall unconscious the evening we met. This, my dear, I promise you."

The realization of this was rather frightening. This boy, this old friend, jumped ship and now rides with this King, his witches and thieves, his monsters, and the brainwashed—basically zombified—citizens of the United States. My three friends and I watched as, daily, another of our ship was taken and turned. I had no idea that someone would willingly jump ship with this man. Fear, maybe, but Kevin stood as content as I've ever seen him, even with Ganondorf just behind him, his hands on Kevin's shoulders as if they were no less than father and son.

I was slowly moving my head from side to side, in the process, pushing myself against the chair. "No…"

"Don't you see what he can do?" Kevin questioned.

"I can, and this is why I have hidden myself." I lifelessly responded.

"He can change the world!" He said, coming closer, since he had previously back away.

"He already has." My voice grew slightly frustrated.

Kevin's face neared mine, as if he was going to kiss me again. "For the better."

"To his will." I said, meeting my forehead with his in confrontation.

He pulled away, frustrated by my stubbornness. "Well, this is exactly why he brainwashes people; to help them see the light."

I rolled my eyes, head with them, before I began shouting at this boy. "He brainwashes them to bend an innocent to his own will! The only reason he hasn't brainwashed you is because you were so easy to mold to his will without it!"

"The reason he hasn't is because he is a merciful and compassionate King!"

My eyes were wide now, I could not believe this! "Do you think he is a god? A merciful god?! Yes, merciful; I'm sure that's why he captured hundreds of young girls in the night; I'm sure that's why he killed that girl who spoke out; I'm sure that's why he _ripped_ my _arms_ out of socket when I asked a question; I'm sure that's why he surrounded my three friends and me in that dome with an army and a half! Compassionate, understanding, merciful ruler. He molds their mind to fit his standards! If he was so merciful and compassionate, he would have _left peoples' minds alone_!" I turned my attention to the king, who only seemed amused at our arguments and my speech. "And you! Let me go! LET ME GO!" I struggled more than before—so much, in fact, I didn't see him move forward. He held my face in place by locking his fingers around my chin. All was silent until he spoke.

"I do not believe we've been properly introduced. I—"

"I know who you are, and it doesn't matter who I am, because you're just going to brainwash me soon anyway." I interrupted.

His grip tightened, which made me wince a bit. "I am Ganondorf Dragmire, King of the Gerudo, King of America—"

"King of Evil." I added.

He seemed almost surprised. "I have heard 'Evil King,' but you would place me so high as King of it all?" He was almost pleased.

"Indeed."

There was a pause as he awaited my name, but when it didn't come, he asked for it, angrily and with a hint of annoyance.

"I do not feel at liberty to reveal my identity." I said. Somehow, my fear had subsided and was covered by my rage. How dare he act as if I have the right to leave whenever I want to? I was no more afraid of the hand that might come to beat me; maybe, then, even Kevin would begin to understand?

"You are at more than liberty, girl, and you'd better ease my temper before you realize _how evil_ I can get." This whisper rose a bit of fear into my heart. My stomach began to grow butterflies.

I had no words. I couldn't speak.

"Master, if I may…" Kevin said, approaching, "…I know her name."

He paid him no heed, or seemed not to. "I would find you words, girl, before my gauntlet finds you cheek."

I clenched my teeth to stop my chin from quivering. Soon, though, I found what I need to say, "S-Samantha. Samantha Jackson."

He let go and stood up straight. "Samantha, is it?" The way he said my name made me shudder. My name wasn't one I liked hearing, at least to full length. That's why I had shorter versions, like Sammy or Sam. His voice made my name sound ominous. "I think I shall let you keep that name. It seems to suit you." He made his way around the throne again.

"What do you mean? And what _are_ you going to do to me once I've been brainwashed?" I inquired as my stomach grew less settled.

"You see, you know things others don't. You seemed to know me at the first touch of my hand, at the first words I whispered to you, at the very first sight of me, whether my features were too dark to see or not. You know me and, from what I've heard, Twinrova just as well."

"Not quite as well." I corrected.

"However," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "you don't know just me, you know things _about_ me, where I came from, the magic I possess—though you can be strong minded, you do not underestimate me, and even in your fear you do not overestimate me, either. This cannot be allowed to be freed into the minds of those who follow so loyally, for I'm sure you know this could be your route to victory."

"So you plan to kill me?" I asked, thinking the idea stupid.

He turned to answer, for he was now in front of me. "Quite the contrary, my dear. Although I cannot let your words affect others, I plan to use them to my advantage."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "How?"

He merely chuckled. "Let me ask you, Samantha," I winced slightly here, not used to hearing my name in his voice, "how has The Boy stopped me in the past?"

I didn't want to answer, so I tried playing dumb.

"I do know you know this. And beyond that, I already know it. Do not think you can hide that way."

He could be terribly convincing, or perhaps just disheartening. I sighed. "He used the power of the Master Sword and the Light Arrows and sealed the you in the Sacred Realm with the help of the Seven Sages."

He was now pacing in front of me. "Seven…? So you know that detail…. And where did he get the Master Sword?"

"The Temple of Time."

"And the Arrows of Light?"

"Princess Zelda, the Seventh Sage."

"And when I returned and proved threatening once more? What did the hero do?"

"_He_ did nothing. He wasn't awakened until much later."

"Oh? I remember some resistance. Wouldn't you enlighten me?"

I didn't want to. I know that he remembered precisely what happened. "The sages attempted to kill you. You lacked the Triforce of Power and they tried to destroy you entirely."

He nodded. "Go on."

I hesitated. "They failed. You might have died, but only briefly, because the Triforce of Power returned to you—for what reason I am unsure of. You returned… broke free of your binds... and were sent away into a new realm."

"Why?" He almost grinned.

I shut my eyes and sighed. "Because you were too powerful for them to deal with."

He nodded, less in understanding and more in agreement. "Now, we both know who has the Triforce of Power, who has the other two pieces?"

"Why am I answering you?" I asked abruptly, remembering what it was he was doing and what he wanted.

"That is not a question I can answer." He responded, his smile fading just a bit.

"Well, then, I'm done answering." I said finally.

He inhaled, about ready to angrily fire a retort to my statement, when two dark silhouettes, short and swift and so alike they might be accurately called twins. It was Twinrova, and I knew what that meant. I pushed myself against the back of the seat, keeping my wary eyes on their and their King's every movements. For some strange reason, Ganondorf didn't pose as near great a threat as when he was with the witches or completely alone, and since Kevin was still present, the second option was not an option.

Ganondorf's anger subsided as he saw what made me tense. He even grinned, leaving me suddenly more afraid than ever. Ganondorf stood behind Kevin as Twinrova decreased the space between us quickly. Each witch put one of their hands on mine, making me cringe. One hand, I believe it was my right, felt instantly frozen at Kotake's touch, and the other felt burned at the same touch of Koume.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?" Kotake asked in an almost frosty yet kind voice.

"Not long enough, I'd wager."

"Oh, don't be so stubborn. We all know that this will be the most interesting day you've lived in your entire life." Koume said, truly cackling. Both witches seemed to burn my hands more, one with frost and the other with fire before releasing them simultaneously. My hands, then, burned from the air, making my frozen hand burn and my burned hand freeze. I wanted so badly to get my wrists loose and hold each and in the other. The fact that this couldn't be done was probably the worst feeling of it all.

"So, what now? You slit my wrists, mumble a few words I won't hear, and I fall unconscious, waking up without a mind?" I asked sarcastically.

"Oh, not quite, dear." Kotake answered.

"What you said about your wrists is true," Koume said, turning to Kevin and motioning for him to come forward, "but you will hear out words, and—well, we don't want to ruin the surprise, do we?"

When Kevin stood between the two, I noticed a velvet red cloth resting in his hands. Both Koume and Kotake began to unfold the cloth, slowly, but surely, revealing two, identical three-inch daggers. They looked less than fatal, but oddly quite sharp on the edges. I stared at them as the two witches picked one blade up each from Kevin's hands. I looked straight into Kevin's eyes, fear written all over my expression. He was calm and collective.

"Help me." I begged quietly.

His expression became determined and serious. "I am."

That was it, I was doomed. With those two words, I lost all hope and know that brainwashing was inevitable. I wasn't giving up yet, though, because if there was any way I could stall the ceremony, maybe the 'divine beings' who created the dome would do something—anything—to save me.

I was stunned by his answer until both of my wrists stung and seared in pain. When I looked, there was a small pool of blood on the arm rests of the chair, dripping drip by drip to the floor.

Then, they chanted;

"Magic of darkness, hear our cry,

See, here, this girl and give reply,

We spill her blood, warm and young

So before your mercy she's flung."

"Kevin, stop them!" My mind, though I could never explain how it felt, felt open and vulnerable suddenly. I needed help from anybody.

"Help them." Ganondorf whispered darkly to him. This, Kevin did without question or hesitation.

"Forget the King, we say,

Forget thyself and of childhood play."

My mind began to tingle as this dark magic engulfed my memories, my mind, and me entirely. But the spell wasn't finished, and I wasn't done fighting.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

It felt like something was taken from me. I didn't forget much of anything, but it felt like fingers reaching into my mind, fingering my thoughts as if it was slowly deciding on which memories to let me have and which to take away. I was tense and after a moment or two of fighting, the hand was controlled—it didn't leave, but it was still.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

They repeated these words and the feeling returned. Again, I restrained it and returned to a calmer mind. But soon, the three began to chant louder and faster, circling me as if they were trying to make me dizzy.

"Kevin, stop this!"

Surprisingly, he stopped chanting and circling me. He leaned forward to kiss me again, but I didn't let him. I didn't trust him anymore. "Oh, come now, one last time?"

"I'd rather spit in your face." I knew I wasn't going to be able to trust him, so I became instantly unfriendly.

He gave me a look of disappointment and distrust.

"How can you do this? Standing around and watching is—" I paused and winced as the fingers toyed with my mind again, "—is one thing, but helping them?"

"My master requires it of me. I will serve him loyally." He responded soundly. His opinion was not about to be swayed.

"God damn it, Kevin! He _isn't _your_ master!_ He—" again, the chant silenced me, "—he has taken everything over, including your free mind."

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I grew extremely tense as his voice added strength to the spell. I had lost something, a memory. I think it was a name—my name, actually. I lost it, but I wasn't in need of it then. If I could get away remembering "King of Evil/Ganondorf = Bad" and "Bad = Stay away." I could make it.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I winced and growled the word "No" in stress and confusion.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I was able to ignore most of the command, and I even stopped the spell from working; my anger disrupted the magic's path. I, here, noticed Ganondorf standing no less than twenty feet away from me. He was glaring at me, as if in warning. I took no heed. I continued to fight.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

After every repeat, I shut my eyes tight. In the time I did this, the King of Evil crossed the space between us and knelt before me. When I unclosed my eyes, he was what I saw, which melted my anger into fear. I looked away and regained my composure before the spell had time to continue.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I winced at the feeling, but lost nothing, and Ganondorf knew this. He also knew that I was quite afraid of him, so he seized a firm hold on my chin and directed my attention into his eyes, his hate-filled eyes. This one action did me in; I was frightened out of my mind. I wanted to pull away, but he had my head pushed hard against the back of the seat and only directed my attention with a jerk of his hand in any direction he needed.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I lost my army of protection in my mind. I was over-run with magic fingers—fingers earlier, now nets. I couldn't begin to stop them—I couldn't begin to guess which memories or thoughts they were going to take until it was already done.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I lost the names of all those who were dear to me.

I lost who those people were.

I was left with no more than a vague imprint of those who were closest to me.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I lost memories of those I had acquainted

I lost memories of places I had been and that meant so much to me.

I lost all of this, and was left with nothing.

The boy who circled me was even unfamiliar.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

"Stop it! Please!" I cried to all who would hear or possibly listen.

"Of all that has been

Forget what you have seen."

I lost everything, and the very last thing to go was my memory of Hyrule and of Ganondorf Dragmire.

At this strain of loss, pain, and confusion, my mind shut itself down. I lost consciousness just after the King of Evil leaned forward and whispered three words into my ear.

"You are mine."

A/N: So, here it finally is. If you follow me on deviantART, you know that I posted this a while back. I just haven't had the time since to post it here. This version was edited a bit more accurately than the other one, though.

The story is getting depressing, I know. But what would you expect from an "end of the world" story?

Comments? Questions? Reviews? I accept them all, just don't be mean. It's always nice when people aren't mean.


	8. The Journal Part I

Chapter VIII

The Journal Part I

(From here on for a long while, I will be rerecording old journal entries from when I was a brainwashed prisoner. Everything in parentheses is either side notes or necessary info to add when I looked back on these memories. What you see will not be everything. I wrote almost every single day. But I'll not waste your time with that.)

December 27th 2013

This is my first entry in this new journal. He treats me so well, the king. He looks cruel, but speaks to me and acts very kindly—he's been like a father to me, since I have totally forgotten who and what happened to my birth father. I suppose I should explain;

Two days ago, I woke up in a dark room of stone. I was laying on the floor, my wrists bleeding from a couple large slits and there was a large chair nearby. I was confused, and still am, and I didn't remember how I had gotten there.

I hardly heard him until he was there, asking me if I was alright and who I was. This was when I realized that I didn't know who I was. He seemed sympathetic to y situation.

"Would you prefer that I name you until you remember?" He offered. I must have agreed, because he said he'd call me 'Samantha.' I liked the name; it seemed somehow familiar.

"How did I get here?" I asked.

He explained it, as he knew it, every so often asking, "Are you _sure_ you don't remember anything?" and every time I would answer that I was sure. He said that he had been summoned by one of his servants, for a child (that would be me) appeared in a bright light, unconscious and with bloodied wrists. (I still have the scars from those damn witches.) He came as fast as he could. "Who did this to you?" He was helping me up. "What happened?"

I told him confusedly that I did not know, and I don't. He walked me out of that dark room and up a long set of stairs. When we reached the top the whole place transformed from dark and frightening to bright, white, and full of people, men and women alike, in suits, pin-striped and adorned with different colored ties. I felt so dirty around them, bloodied with matted hair and torn clothes.

He brought me up to an empty part of the building before I asked him where I was. He told me I was in the White House in Washington DC. I told him that I've never seen a "house" as big as this one, and that to name a house after a color seemed silly. He agreed before telling me that it wasn't the name _he'd_ given it. He continued walking with me until I made it to a room full of wondrous things, like a tall, luxurious bed, a beautiful cherry-wood desk with a glass-blown sphere that glowed bright like the sun when touched, the closet full of clothes, a few oddly-laced rocks on the floor, and other such oddities.

I was—still am—in awe. If someone told me that my life had taken a turn for the worst, I wouldn't have believed them—I still won't!

"Make yourself at home here." he said. "There is a room for you to wash in across the hallway, and, as I can see you've already seen, there is a closet of a variety of new clothes. I do apologize, but I must return to my business. I do not know if you remember, but this nation is quite in distress."

I turned and stared at him, looking at his clothes and taking what he looked like. (This I shall not repeat, but I'll tell you that I often used words like "dark" and "ominous.") "Am I in America?" I asked.

He gave me a smile. "Yes. You are in the capital."

"Are you the president?" I asked.

Again, he smiled. "Indeed. Quite obviously, you've remembered quite a bit. But I must go now. Please, as I've already said, make yourself at home."

So he left, shutting the door behind him. I explored everywhere in the two rooms I could, and even chose a pretty pair of silk pants and shirt. When I had finished cleaning myself up, I looked at myself in the mirror and was very surprised to see what I looked like. I felt like I as a girl with bright blond hair and blue eyes. I was brown eyed and light-brown haired. But beyond this, my eyes seemed to scream something through the fog on my eyes. When I asked Mr. President about this, he told me that the scream was the rush of my old memories and the cloud was the sign of my memories being suppressed (both true, by the way). For the rest of that day and the next, I didn't do much. Mr. President came and retrieved me for my meals those two days, and we spoke mostly of what I remembered, which was very little, or of how the country was faring. They were private conversations and I was seldom taken in front of other people. I was glad, though, because other people glanced awkwardly at me. When I asked Mr. President of this, he had no response.

Yesterday, he gave me this journal from me to write all I needed into it. He said it could help me remember my past. The only thing I really remember is coming from a harsh way of life filled with fear and constant feelings of loss. I really don't want to remember, but to appease Mr. President I have agreed to write here. (And, of course, this state of mind was precisely what "Mr. President" wanted out of me.) I slept poorly last night, so I have gotten up early to write. Mr. President told me that we were going to try and bring back a few memories. I fear what will come of this….

December 31st 2013-January1st 2014

Today, we took a break with training. I had never expected that mental training was a tiring and saddening as it has been. He's been teaching me to meditate and search my mind for hours on end. I'm sure that in the tree passed days, I've meditated for twenty-four hours at the least. I'm very tired and can hardly stay up for "New Years Day." When I ask him why we must do this, he says, "Think of your family, whoever they may be, and think of how much they must miss you. Shouldn't you be reunited with such people that love you? Samantha, when you remember your friends and family, you will be so very glad. Then, you might be able to remember who did this to you so we may stop him." (He was a good actor.)

Now, I think I will meditate until I fall asleep. I would otherwise like to be practicing what little magic he taught me. I never questioned why he did this—I like it too much to argue.

He says, "New Years Resolution for you (to me, I suppose) is to learn various types of swordplay." I fear slightly what would become of this.

(I have not, since my time in Washington DC, picked up a sword again. Nor have I used magic again, knowing where either of those talents came from. I have not even told a soul of this experience.)

January 27th 2014

Today, I commemorate my first month anniversary with this new journal by explaining what has occurred in the past few weeks with a new perspective;

Meditation is now a hobby, not a chore. I have gained quite a formidable skill with the sword, but still fail every time to defeat President Dragmire (I eventually found out his name). Although, I never expected to. He is a master swordsman and I don't ever expect to exceed his skills. Magic is a slow and tedious, yet tremendously rewarding skill. This far, I have learned to light a candle with a pinch of the wick and even hold a small flame on my fingertip for a short time. From flame and other such simple spells to defensive magic. I've begun learning magic of both offense and defense. (This, my young pupils, is called "dark magic.")

My memories are another matter. Meditation, it seems, has only given me priorly known knowledge, not exactly memories. Meditation has brought to me knowledge of the "Long-Since-Deceased Legends of Hyrule," as President Dragmire called it. I remembered the Boy in Green. I remembered the Three Golden Goddesses, Din, Nayru, and Farore. I remembered the Triforce and its three pieces. But my memories… my strange memories could be the strange dreams I have had of late. They began about a week or two ago. This was my first;

_A boy, black haired and dark skinned, quite obviously foreign, stood in front of me. He beckoned to me. I frowned, a tingling sensation fading away. I began forward, but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see a red headed boy, someone most would be intimidated by, simply by size. I felt a smile cross my face to see the dark brown eyes. "Sam." It was my name—is my name. I hugged him tightly. Quietly, he whispered to me, "I love you." I was happy. I turned to see the boy, but he'd disappeared. I looked back at the red-headed boy and said, "I love you too, Jake."_

Then, just last night, I had a second dream, this one so real I could feel the fear and want so badly to get away;

_A black-haired girl stood, chained to many others, none of which I paid much attention to. It was this girl in the darkness of the night that had my attention. She spoke so strongly, I feared for her, but I didn't know why. Then, a tall man of seven or more feet stepped close to her and held her mouth shut. Ominous words of a familiar voice were spoken in a threatening fashion before his other massive hand was placed to her chest, darkness illuminating from it. She trembled in fear. This man, so garbed in armor of black and matching cape, of hair red as crimson blood, thrust this fatal spell into this girl's body, quarter-century old at most. I watched from afar, unable and for some reason too afraid to stop it all. She was dead in five seconds flat, falling limp to the ground, pulling surrounding girls down to compensate. He turned and faced me, all of his hard features hidden in the dark night. Three words ring in my ears;_

"_You are mine."_

How frightening, I must say. I must think no more on this for fear of frightening myself farther. I have not spoken to President Dragmire of them yet, and aim not certain whether or not I should. I shall keep these to myself for now, as they may only be dreams or vivid nightmares. No need to arouse the busy president's worry.

A.N.: The next few chapters could be as dry as this. I'm trying to show the world from the perspective of someone hiding in the shadows, not realizing how much more there is outside of them. I shall definitely try to update more often in compensation, however. Thank you for all of you who read regularly and for those of you who comment here and there. They truly are ego boosters, which are quite nice to have.


	9. The Journal Part II

Chapter IX

The Journal Part II

January 31st 2014

The past few days have been less than eventful. I have meditated, practiced magic, and gone over my passed dreams. I have begun to have them more and more frequently with meditation. Though President Dragmire has been significantly more occupied with work, he never forgets to ask me what I've remembered. Still, I do not dare occupy him more with troubling nightmares and nothing more. Still, however, I am very curious of their more frequent appearances. Last night… this is the most recent dream yet;

_I was surrounded by darkness and fire. Shouting voices cried in excitement as everything burned around me. I was crying, and very scared. I turned to my left, to my right, forward, and behind, turning in circles. There was no way out. I was surrounded by smoke and fire. I fell to my knees and threw my face into my hands. I was so scared, and it was no more than a dream._

"_You run, you try, you fight a battle you cannot win…."_

_I looked up to see a man—the same one as he who killed the young black-haired girl—walking through the wall of hellish fire. His features were once again hidden. I could only stare as he approached, taunting me with every step._

"_Some say the eye is a window to one's soul. If such be true, I can see the loss and failure that haunts it. You've already given up."_

_He unsheathed a dagger and, very quickly, moved forward and thrust it down into the ground next to my left let. I screamed as I though of another place that dagger could have gone._

"_You are mine," he hissed in my face. "You are mine to do with as I please."_

_A swift motion was taken and this man unsheathed a second dagger and thrust it in the ground next to my right leg. I screamed again as sweat beads ran down my face from the heat of the fire._

"_The girl to start a war—a mere child at the core…. Have I frightened you?"_

_I tried pushing myself backwards, but something was pinning me to the ground. Upon looking down, I realized that the daggers were pinning my skirt to the ground, blades totally submerged into the ground._

"_So now you understand your predicament, it will be, soon, time to learn your place."_

_In one more swift motion, he unsheathed a third dagger in his right hand and grabbed a hold of my hair, pulled my head back and placed the dagger to my throat. Again I screamed._

"_Now tell me, how do I kill the boy?"_

_I winced before uttering, "What boy?"_

_He pulled my head back farther and pushed the knife into my throat more. "Don't play coy with me, girl. The boy from the forest blessed by the Gods themselves; where is he? What, shall we say, _weakness_ does he possess?"_

"_I… I…. " _

…And there it ended. I woke to my own stuttering words and the phantasmagoric image. I wonder, is this more than a heightened imagination? All of what that man said, and that man himself, were all far too familiar. Ah, here comes Mr. President.

Later: 8:00 P.M.

The day was infuriatingly difficult. No meditation, no magic, but all swordplay. We fought from 9:00 this morning after breakfast, until 12:00 noon when we took a break for a lunch of various melon fruits, veggies similar to cucumbers and tomatoes, and a bit of Ham. It was delicious, but short-lived, since we began we began again at 12:45 having finished lunch but fifteen minutes before. This swordplay did not stop until 6:00 P.M. at the latest. It was harsh sword battery between an amateur and a master. He always ended up knocking my sword from my hand or pinning me against the wall or in some other manner beating me. I really had little to no chance of defeating him; he was much stronger and wiser on this subject and, though I had speed on my side, I had no chance against his reflexes and stamina.

After dinner, Mr. President calmly spoke to me.

"I hope I have not worked you too hard today. I fear that my stress and anger may have gotten the best of me. How are you?" He asked.

"Fine, just… fine." I felt disconnected and I'm quite certain he notice.

"Is there something wrong?" He seemed deeply worried for my state of mind.

I decided to finally tell him of my many dreams. He listened intently, almost grimacing sometimes. I fear that I may have worried him.

"Well," he began when I had finished, "you seem to be having some intriguing nightmares. I would like to tell you to cast them off as nothing, for they are mere nightmares. But I cannot; I fear these nightmares may be some old memories, and who knows? That man could be the one who did this to you." He said, warningly.

(Now I seriously have to wonder; why was he telling me this? If ever I saw the man's face, I would be certain of who the man in my dreams and who the president truly is. He was walking on dangerous ground, even for him. If I ever remembered, I never necessarily had to _tell_ him that, or write it in the Journal. Still his motives are hidden in shadow…. What could he be up to…?)

I stood up and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Please don't let this bother you. I don't want something as silly as a dream to affect your work."

"Do not be worried. Unless you ask for my concern, I certainly won't supply it; what good has it ever done?" He said, standing up. "Come. It is getting late and I have a very long, stressful week ahead of me starting Monday, and I would like to continue training with you tomorrow."

I could hardly hold back a groan. I couldn't—can't—imagine more swordplay.

So we left the Ovular-Shaped room and returned to my room. He bade me farewell and wished me decent dreams at the very least.

Honestly, I am afraid to go to sleep again tonight—I don't want a knife at my throat, I don't want some very large, intimidating man to trap me in a barrier of fire and taunt me, I don't want to be questioned about some _weakness_ of a boy from the forest that I….

(I ended there, and I think it was mostly because of the epiphany that I _did_ know the boy form the forest. I ran to some old books in my bookcase the president had given me, read a short blurb of the History of the Hero of Time, then read through this journal, and then burst of my room to hunt down the "president." I'm only telling you this because I didn't ever write in my journal again; I remember remembering, and I remembered something very important. Thankfully, I did not yet remember the answer to the inquiry of the King of Evil.)


	10. February 1st of 2014

Chapter X

February 1st of 2014

I needn't parenthesize anymore since I have finished the entries by journal. The rest of what was done or written about may be referenced later, but explained on that same date. It was rather repetitive and I shall not go into it. However, this next day taught me some things it may be time for others to know.

The night previous, I told my captor of what I remembered and he, gradually, lulled me into a false sense of security (as if I wasn't already lulled) and eventually asked, "What was your answer to this man?"

"I didn't answer. I woke up." I said after giving it a good though.

"What would be your answer now?" He was prying and I was opening. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't going to gain any information.

"I don't know, actually. I still don't understand what he wanted this for, why he was asking me, or who he was in the first place. Hyrule is long since deceased, isn't it?"

The "president" slowly made his way to his chair, sat down, and sighed, but he did not speak.

After a long time, I asked, "It is… isn't it?" I approached the front of his desk slowly.

His elbows rested on the table, fingers interlocked together and forehead held up by his fingers. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at me with dark eyes. "Oh, it's alive. Quite rich with life, even. But…" he paused and heaved a heavy sigh, "it's not part of this world—of Earth herself."

Needless to say, I was shocked, excited, and delighted at the news. "Wow do you know this?!"

He was hesitant—probably for his own good. "I've… been there once before."

"Really? Oh! Can we go? It sounds so wonderful!" I was going on and on and before I knew it, he was on his feet again, holding my mouth shut.

"Samantha, perhaps one day we can go. However, you must promise right now that you will speak of this to no one except me." He was kneeling at eyelevel to me, glaring harshly into my eyes. "You _must promise_ me."

I nodded. "Of course. Why, though?"

He clicked his tongue. "I fear what some of the more… greedy people with do if they found out our little secret." He answered.

I nodded, saying that I understood. With that, I was swiftly sent off to bed.

The next day started at nine when I awoke from a weird dream—not a nightmare, but not a normal dream either. It was simple; darkness surrounded me and one voice continued to utter five words; "we're coming to help you." I know now who it was, but I'll save that juicy detail for later.

I awoke later than usual and turned to use my journal only to find the top of my desk empty besides that "Mr. President' had borrowed it for the evening and promised to return it this morning. I rose and got myself dressed shortly before "Mr. President" came in. He placed my journal back on the desk and beckoned me to come with him. I did so, quietly and tiredly. I wanted to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, _that_ was not on the schedule.

He took me to the rear of the White House in a little secluded meadow surrounded by thick, tall shrubbery. No one came back here, and all windows were always shut back here, to "President Dragmire's" orders.

When we stood in the center of the field, he created a candle from some red, hot wax that waited in a stone bowl and a nearby wick by magically holding both of them in the air and cooling them with some water in another bowl. When this was done, he took a bit of extra, melted wax and placed the candle on it, making it stand straight up on a small rock. Gesturing with his hand, he said. "Light the candle."

It was a simple task, and also a little test for e. I pinched the wick and sparked the small flame. When all was done, he sat down, but I remained standing.

"Show me what you remember." He said simply.

So I did. I created fire on my fingertips a few time before creating spheres of magic, dark with an inner glow, and controlling their movements around me, then around the field.

Eventually, I stopped and sat down in front of him.

"Is that all?"

I nodded. "It is."

He stood. "Then let us begin." I stood for a few seconds before he fired two dark orbs at me, which caught both of my arms at my wrists and held me up in the air. I was shocked and rather confused. After a few seconds of hanging, I began struggling madly. "Now, using what you know, escape this trap." He sat back down idly.

It was the first time under his care that I had been truly afraid. I hung for a while, looking back and forth at the two orbs.

"And I must forewarn you," "Mr. President" began, "while you use magic that cannot help you, you will lose your energy significantly. If you struggle, the same will occur." He was cross-legged, almost in a meditative pose.

"Then what do I do?" I asked him.

"The point of this exercise is to see your mental strategy. What can you do on your own, my dear. Do not worry, you will not be harmed, at least unbearably so."

I winced, again afraid. I tried pulling my arms from the dark orbs, but it did nothing. I began using any form of magic, anything I could think of. Nothing worked, and many times I told him I was finished trying—and that I couldn't do it—and he simply said the same thing time after time.

"If this was, indeed, your situation, do you think I, as the captor, would help you escape?"

"And what if I never find a way down?" I eventually asked.

"It will come to you naturally." he answered. "I will give you one piece of advice; do not overreact. Stay calm."

'Oh yes, be calm. I'm hanging in the air by dark magic, how am I supposed to do that?' I hung for five minutes before ditching the idea and struggling again. When that proved futile once more, I hung, actually thinking. It was true I was growing more and more exhausted, but I had one more idea. If it didn't work, I would be rendered immobile and perhaps even unconscious. But if it did, I would have solved a magical mystery all by myself!

I was a fool.

I put my plan into action; I sent magic to my wrists, which glowed a strange white color when reaching my binds. It was a magic I had begun to teach myself. "Mr. President" had not even known of this magic—not until this day, anyway. This magic is a defensive magic-the only magic I know—that comes out from any part of the body. It seemed to work, it truly did.

I do not remember much beyond me waking up, finding myself lying on the ground in exhaustion, "President" Ganondorf hovering over me. I opened my eyes and, in my movements, groaned. He seemed unmoved by my failure.

"We shall take a break, and I shall teach you a few new techniques." He said with an air of finality.

My sigh was only one of many for the day. I was so tired already—and it was hardly 10:00! It was as if he was trying to prepare me for war!

* * *

So, I know it's short, and they've been getting shorter, but I think this should be the last dry chapter for quite some time. Again, I really appreciate Reviews from ANYONE in ANY FORM, just be semi kind about criticisms. Thank you!!! And thank you for reading!!!


	11. Journey to Washington DC

Chapter XI

Journey to Washington DC

He held the knife close to his heart. Rivers where tears had run down his face froze to icy traits in the cold morning of Christmas. He was held closely by his two friends, one holding a bracelet of carved beads and charms and the other holding a warm, fur blanket around his shoulders. They were kneeling in the snow, quietly praying, quietly hoping.

"Help us to deliver her from evil…."

"Though we walk through the valley of shadow and death, we will fear no evil…."

As the short, desperate prayers were brought to an end, the boy raised the knife and thrust it into the ground. The three stood and the red-head turned to the girl and the blond boy. "May the history of light and shadow be written in blood—his blood."

"Amen," the other two agreed.

Their features were hard and angry. After what had happened that day, it's a surprise they weren't harsher. Darkness loomed in the whiteness of the woods' snow and the sky's clouds. Everything lacked color, but color was not what anyone wanted to see again; they and seen far too much 'color' and excitement for one Christmas Day.

"Do you remember the plan?" The girl asked, stuffing her hand into her pocket.

The two boys nodded, the red-headed boy stuffing his hands into his pockets as well. The blond boy ran into the shelter and began packing the necessary equipment and preparing the necessary weapons.

He threw snow on the fire as the red-head came in, followed by the girl.

"What of Sam's things should we take?" The blond asked at length.

The red-head was silent, but the girl switched subject. "What did _you_ get for Sam, Nick?"

There was, again, silence as he sighed. "Do you remember that time I had gone to Keen and not come back for a day or so?"

"The first time you did that, you mean?" the boy with red-hair asked.

Nick, if only vaguely, grinned a bit. "Yes, Jake. The first time. I got her a copy of all of her works—all the ones she _kept_, anyway."

"Even _The Attack of Ruin_?" the girl asked.

"Yes, even that one." There was a pause of silence as everyone remembered their best friend's stories. "So what did _you_ get for her, Chelsea?"

She grimaced a bit as she smiled at the thought of her gift and frowned at the though of her best friend having disappeared. "I was able to get into her house a long while back. I got a hold of her flute and ocarina. Then, with what extra time I had, I made a case for her, one that held the flute _and_ ocarina."

Nick smiled. "Wow, how did you do that?"

Chelsea shrugged. "I have my ways." There was a pause here before the two looked at Jake expectantly.

He began shaking his head, as if in shock. "I… no. No, it's—no… for her…." Fresh tears came from his eyes as he left.

Chelsea looked at Nick. "Bring her gifts, her journal, and a few pairs of clothes. We'll take a couple of swords and as many guns as we can carry. Extra weapons we'll use here, then desert. Everything else, put under the tree." She left.

Nick did not question her. He only did as he was told.

Jake made his way to the tree. He bent down over the small, box-shaped gift wrapped in an old, green rag tied with a piece of twine. He picked it up and held it close to his heart. "For you, my love. When I find you, I shall give this to you in the hopes of your utter acceptance." He mused through his tears, too quiet for even a Moblin to hear.

"Are you ready?" Chelsea asked Nick and Jake in a whisper.

"Ready as we'll ever be." Nick answered.

"Good, on three." Chelsea said. "One…."

They all picked up their guns and made themselves ready in the dark night of Christmas. Jake had a sword at his side in a gun's place. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small book of matches and readied one.

"Two…." Nick counted with Chelsea.

The monstrous army of monsters still stood sturdy, yet ever since Sam was taken, most figured these three to be little above children and went on their way. No more than fifty of the previous half of a thousand remained, and no Keese or Kargarocks remained. The three in the dome knew that their best chance was then and there to leave.

"Three!" They were whispering, which was hardly heard besides the gunshots of Nick and Chelsea. Jake flicked the match against the striking strip on the book. When it sparked and was lit, he threw it on a thin path of melted snow, which instantly caught fire. Very quickly, the flame followed the trail to the tree and engulfed it, and everything they had put under it, in flame. He, then, unsheathed his sword, stood up and made his way swiftly to the other side of the shelter, unseen and unknown, to slit a few throats. In the first thirty seconds of confusion, the three had killed at least half of the monsters. However, though numbers depleted quickly, the speed at which they depleted slowed considerably. They began to hide behind trees and when they got out of range of Jake's sword, he opened a satchel attached to a belt on his hip and pulled out a few small, sharpened rocks and threw them at the heads of the Moblins, Lizalfos, and Wolfos . He must have downed no less than five or six beasts with mere rocks, content to finish the job at a safer time. Chelsea and Nick, when they were out of bullets for their first set of guns, tossed them aside and jumped from their hiding spots to pursue the shortened army.

The attack, frenzied as it was outside the dome, was perfectly executed inside. The siege could not have lasted more than a couple hours. Not all of the monsters had been killed when they left either. Jake and Nick grabbed the bags and made their way out of the dome and toward the Swanzey airport as Chelsea covered them from behind. They had no trouble getting away.

Only an hour after the three friends; escape, the dome faltered a little and gave way in the absence of anyone to protect. Once the three left the forest, it vanished entirely. Only a couple Moblins remained to witness the strange event.

The room was dark and dank. I could see nothing and wondered what I could possibly need to do here.

"We shall meditate a little." Ganondorf said, circling me like a vulture. "Stand straight and tall, close your eyes, and hold your hands."

I did so loyally. It was probably 11:00 February 1st. Hardly having begun training, I accepted tiredly the magic he was about to teach me.

"Now, repeat my words:

"With wide eyes I watch,

To see that held in night's clutch.

Jealously behind her dark sheet

Where there is shadow, I see glow;

Where there is nothing I will know

And join night's black fleet."

So I did, and it was such a strange spell, but it worked. The darkness of the room dissipated into a strange, unfamiliar light. I looked around and saw no candles lit, nor a bright chandelier nor a raging fireplace. The light was night-like, cold with blues, but seemingly natural. I looked around me and saw a large, elegant room. Ganondorf still circled me. "I see it has taken affect. Good…. Now repeat the words I taught you this morning."

They were simple and easy to remember:

"Light the candles."

Everywhere a candle stood, a candle was lit. The room grew bright—too bright for me to see clearly. I covered my eyes.

"Thank the magic as I have taught you."

I put my hands together, saying, "I thank you, magic, for the sight you have given me."

And it returned to normal.

He, later, told me that the first spell was called the "Sheikah's Eye of Truth."

On Chelsea's birthday, they decided to explore Quincy Market in Boston, Massachusetts. That day was December 27, Chelsea's 21st birthday. None were calm enough to let the memory of their lost friend go, but they and no idea where to begin looking. What if he sent her back home, brainwashed and all? What if he sent her to the largest prison under the US control? And where could that possibly? Or what if he sent her to live with his thieves in the Gerudo Fortress? How would they find her? No one wanted to think about that. They ate any extra food they brought along, knowing that without money, they could not buy food. They were all silently sitting on a bench, watching the children play, the adults walk mindlessly to and fro, and the few performers in the streets. One man was dressed like a skeleton that stood still until someone put money in his "helmet." It was clear to these three that this man was dressed up like a Stalfos, imitating their military-like moves. The three sighed as they tried their best to enjoy themselves.

All was quiet between them. All was tense and painful. Finally, Nick said, "Happy Birthday."

Chelsea sighed. "Thanks."

Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out his book of matches. Lighting one and holding it in front of her he said, "Make a wish."

She sighed again, forcing a smile. She blew it out and made her wish, silently and to herself.

"What did you wish for?" Jake asked almost too quietly to hear.

She opened her mouth, about to say. "If I tell you, it won't come true," but paused as she decided whether or not to tell them. Finally, she gave in and said, "Sam back."

"What?" They both asked.

"A sign, a-a hint, _anything_." She said. "Anything to help get her back."

They all shared a smile of happy memories and the sad present. Jake nodded and placed the match into a bottle. They were so caught up on themselves that the click of the newspaper stand shutting right next to them snapped them jumpily out of their thoughts. They all looked at the man and his newspaper and shivered in reality.

Chelsea took a double-take, however—not of the man, but of the newspaper. Her eyes widened and brightened as a smile crossed her face. She jumped to her feet and ripped the newspaper, now some middle page, out of the man's hand. She looked at the title page, threw it to Nick and Jake over her head and rummaged through to another page, ripping that page out and hurried over to look at the articles. Not long afterward, however the man's angry and irritated voice rang through her excitement.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Who do you think you are?!"

She turned and realized what she'd done. She scrambled to her feet from her knees and picked up the extra pieces of paper and putting them back in place. "I'm sorry! Sorry!" She yelled in the process.

"You are the strangest person I've ever met." He said.

"Thank you!" Chelsea said with a giant grin across her face. "Can we keep these two pages?"

He glanced passed her at the pages. "Do either of them have the weather or any comic strips?"

Chelsea looked. "No. Just a Presidential Article."

"Ah. Then yes, and if I heard correctly, Happy Birthday." And with that, he walked off.

They all knelt in a small triangle, reading the news articles, Chelsea reading the headline:

"President Takes in Little Girl."

The picture was of a brown-haired, brown eyed girl clinging to 'President Ganondorf's' arm….

Chelsea's wish was granted; the girl was Sam.

Lunch came eventually. I ate lunch out of the President's supervision—in my room, actually, but I wasn't alone for long. A boy came and ate with me. He had dark hair, dark brown eyes, a dark mustache, and darker skin. He was definitely foreign, presumably of Spanish descent.

We all know who this truly is, but at the time, he was a stranger. He casually, yet a bit tensely, introduced himself. "My name is Kevin Gonzalez."

The name was familiar and I and to pause and stare at him, lost in the familiarity.

"M-may I join you?" He asked, snapping me out of my daydream.

"Uh… yeah… yes, of course." I gestured to the center of my room, where I had taken my place upon the floor. We sat, eating for a little while before I had to ask, "Do I know you?"

His head snapped up from looking at the floor. He smiled a little as his eyes shifted back and forth between the floor and me. "Um…." He laughed. "Yes, before you lost your memory, we knew each other quite well. You are a very good friend to me."

"How did you know about my memory?" I asked.

"I'm very close to the president. I am one of his most loyal servants, for lack of a better term." He said.

"Oh… but aren't you foreign? I-I mean you look and sound like it, but I could be wrong…."

"Yes, I am foreign. I am not a resident of the United States; in fact, I hardly even _live_ here. I come from a country in Central America called Guatemala. My family is split between living here and there." He answered. His English was amazing, though he was not native to the USA.

"Why do you serve the President of the United States, then?" I asked. "That just seems strange."

He smiled. "He's truly a great man—king worthy, even. He's been persistently bringing up the economy, opening more jobs, and spreading out the wealth." He paused here as his smile faded. "My parents live where you lived in New Hampshire," (I was surprised to learn of my home state) "but my grandfather and a few others still live in Guatemala. President Dragmire told me that, if I help him better the country, he would take special concern in helping them over the borders. My family would be united in a free country—in a _safe_ country." He looked away from my eyes and mumbled something to the floor that I didn't hear. When I questioned it, he gave no answer, and instead held both of my hands and begged me, "Please, if and when you remember your past, please find it in you to forgive me. I…" he stood, letting go of my hands, "…I am sorry." And with that, he ran from my room. I have not seen him since.

We return to the three friends, fidgeting with anxiety in an old truck Chelsea drove. These anxious movements were actions they daily partook in, for everyday they remembered their friend, and thus their anxiety. On this day, however, the truck they drove seemed to be giving them trouble. The battery was dying.

"No, no, no! Shit, no! Don't do this now!" Chelsea cried as she banged on the dashboard with her fist.

"It's not as if we have a long distance to walk," Nick pointed out.

Despite all the upset cries or attempts at optimism, the truck died and they were set back by days or weeks before they could hijack another car. Meanwhile, they kept out of sight and in the woods, more often as they neared Washington DC. They knew their destination and their mission. They would tackle every obstacle to reach their goal, and they knew that there would be many of them.

January 27th, 2014 came quickly for the three rescueteers. They had, after many attempts at hitch-hiking, arrived in the capital of the United States of America, now the darkest place in the world. They made their way to the heart of the city, viewing the Great White House. It was different than anyone remembered; there were black spires coming out of the top of four towers, built into the building with similar materials and construction. There was now a dome between the four towers, somewhat similar to that of the capitol building. The three were shocked to see this sight, and Chelsea asked around many times, as nonchalantly as she could manage, to be certain that it was the building they searched for. It was midday at that time. They sat on a hill in a park very near the president's new castle, discussion their next plan of action.

"We're so close." Jake muttered, head in his hands. "She's somewhere in that building—we could be staring at her through her window and neither of us would know it."

"Jake, it's okay. She's not hurt, so we don't have to worry too much about her safety." Nick assured him.

"We just need a plan of action…." Chelsea said, deep in thought.

"And, if that plan takes long enough, some money." Nick added.

After a few seconds, Chelsea's eyes perked up into something more excited. She jumped to her feet and looked at the White House, then at all of the people walking to and from it, and then to the two boys. Her face was shining as she said, "I have an idea."

"Yes, we're all looking for a job—something simple yet necessary will do." Chelsea said. She wore her hair up in a ponytail, like usual, but acted with a certain air of profession. The three had washed and combed their hair and put on their cleanest clothes. Nick and Jake had their hair pulled back into a pony tail, like Chelsea, and wore a hat.

The man they were speaking to leaned hack into his chair and pulled off his glasses, seemingly amused. With a chuckle, he said, "This is the White House. What kind of job could you possibly want here that _any_ of you three can qualify for?"

Chelsea and Nick looked at each other, at a loss.

Jake, sitting with his head bent, said, "Janitorial work."

All three looked at him with surprise. When Jake noticed the silence, he looked up and defensively asked, "What?"

"You would come here to work as Janitors?" The man asked.

Chelsea came out of shock before anyone else and said, "Yes, we would. A place as big as this needs a few people to clean it up."

The man raised an eyebrow at her. "You say that as if you believe no one already _does_ that."

"What can three more hurt?" Nick asked in defense.

"And we're here for minimum pay." Jake added.

The man silently stared at the three before saying, "Alright, you're hired. You start—"

"Today, please." The three finished together.

The three were almost uniform in their choice of clothing. They all wore blue overalls and a solid-colored long sleeve shirt. Nick was in green, Chelsea was in red, and Jake was in blue. They all wore caps and were working within the hour of hiring. During the time they worked, they searched for their beloved friend, but, for days, to no avail….

I was given only an hour to myself before the President returned for more training. I was brought to the rear of the White House once more to continue magic. I was following him outside until he turned and looked at me.

"You have begun to learn simple magic—magic to escape a trap, magic to help you understand your surroundings, and magical defense. Now, for the next six hours, you will learn offensive magic and how to use it in combination with defensive magic. Such is the way one battles." He lifted his hands, which began to glow with darkness. "You will have to fight me. I will not use _half_ of my potential, but do now let that make you cocky. I am a master of these arts. If there's any advice to give, it's this: Do not reveal yourself and, in turn, find my weakness. If you have anything up your sleeve, do _not_ hesitate to use it to your advantage."

I nodded in understanding.

He raised his hands, pointing the magic at me. "Now… begin!" He commanded, firing the magic at me.

I only had time to let myself drop to the ground to dodge them before he fired three more. I rolled behind a couple bushes to escape, but that didn't hold it for long. Soon, he had me jumping from tree to tree, trying to find some place to hide. Eventually, I found no object—tree, bush, or wall-that could protect me. Almost instinctively, and because of my increasing tiredness, I stopped and faced him. He stared me in the eyes before raising his hands.

'Beware, girl. Do not think me a merciful man.' A voice warned me. It was obviously the president's voice, but his mouth hadn't moved. The telepathy should have surprised me, but something blocked my mind of current thought—or perhaps opened the lock of brainwashing. I understood, but it didn't phase me.

'Ha! Mercy! I am no fool. Why would you ever give 'the girl to start a war' mercy?' I glared at him as the strong, white magic flowed from my core to my fists.

Whatever smile he had disappeared. 'So she returns…'

'Not for long, now tell me one thing,' I thought coldly 'Why are you teaching me?'

He only smiled and said, "I'm going to enjoy this!" He shot the dark magic from his fists.

I put both hands up next to each other and white-colored magic (and I say 'white-colored' because it was not actually what one would call 'white magic') emitted from my hands. The dark magic dissipated as it made contact. "I don't think so!"

He continued the assault, and I continued to block. "You have learned much—even some that I did not teach you…."

"Why are you teaching me? Don't you realize the risks such an action could hold?" I asked mid-fight.

"Risks? You over-estimate yourself." He said. The old gleam returned to his eyes and the look of blood-lust broke free from hiding.

"I think _you_ _under_estimate _me_. One little glimpse of this ability, and I can learn more whether you teach me or not." I pointed out.

He stopped attacking me and, taking his cape in his right hand, gave me a sarcastic bow. "Excuse me for my _arrogance_," still sarcasm before he straightened up, "but there is absolutely no way that you could possibly be a threat to me."

I suppose I knew at the time that what he said was true, but still I asked, "What gives you that idea?"

He laughed as if I had told a funny joke. "To begin, there's the obvious; I rule your entire country—I took it over easily, without starting a war. Beyond _that_, there's this," he said holding his left hand up, revealing willingly the symbol of the Triforce of Power for the first time. The golden power gleamed, bright rays piercing my heart, striking fear within my soul. "Of course, you already know what this is, so I won't digress…." He said, lowering his fist. "Then, there's this hidden: the things I can do that you don't know about… yet."

"Like what?" I asked curiously. I suppose my rationale, idiotic as it may have been, was to find any trick he had up his sleeve, and find a way to avoid it. I was a very foolish child back then.

The president suddenly disappeared in a flash of black fire. Before I realized what he had done, my hands were held with superhuman strength—strength so strong that there remains the feeling—the imprint—of his hands on mine at that moment to this very moment. I shudder at the very thought….

I shouted and cried, desperately demanding to be let go. Placing his hand on my back, he said, "Like this," in answer to my question. A great burst of magic was shot into my body painfully. I couldn't hear myself scream, but I knew that I did in the immense pain. It felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out and soon the numbness followed.

Suddenly, I stopped screaming and he pulled his hand away at the same moment. I was suddenly cold and limp. My conscious mind began to fade and, once I was unconscious, all memory of this moment disappeared, just like everything else.

* * *

**A/N: So, there's another chapter done. It took me a while, and I royally apologize. I've been slacking a lot lately, but the good news is I have started another Oneshot. That may be readable on Monday, but no guarentees.**

**Also, the spell "Sheikah's Eye of Truth" is not mine. It's my idea, but a friend of mine wrote it. On deviantArt his name is maelikki, in case you liked the style. I'm not so good with the poetry stuff, so I'm definitely glad he was there. Thanks!**

**Anyway, hope you liked it, questions, comments, critiques are greatly accepted--and if someone could verify which of Ganondorf's hands the Triforce of Power is on, I would be very appreciative. I thought it was his left, but the Twilight Princess has me confused a bit--and each game seems to change it on different characters. Anyway, thanks to all fans, whether you're fans because of my pieces or because Miyamoto is awesome, I don't really mind.  
**


	12. Escapé

2012 Part XII

Escapé

The three janitors found a hidden hallway one day. It was, strangely, bright white inside and pictures hung on the walls. Each held a strange picture, a painting. Each friend looked from wall to wall, and Chelsea was the first to stop and stare at one of the pictures. It was of the dark silhouette of the President himself, a wall of fire behind him. No features of the man were visible. Jake was next to stop. He stood in front of one of the only truly discernable paintings. Oddly, it was of himself. Nick stopped in front of one that was difficult to make out. It was dark and hardly any figures could be made out.

Suddenly, they all began to flicker. Nick and Chelsea saw the fire roar around the scene and monstrous faces—Moblins, Lizalfos, Stalfos, and some they could not name were visibly flickering in the fire. Both jumped back when they saw the large strong-looking man move. Jake, however, was glued to his scene, for instead of frightening images, he saw his friend suddenly holding him close, hugging him. He could almost feel the hug when he heard himself say, "I love you." His friend returned it and at the sound of her voice, he let a tear run down his face.

Chelsea and Nick jumped away from the dark images and began pulling Jake away.

"We're almost there, just look ahead, Jake." Chelsea reassured at his wince-like protests. The three, brooms, backpacks and all, continued on and began opening door after door. One room was a library full of, not only books, but scrolls as well. Another was an elegant bathroom with a large, luxurious shower and even a toilet that looked more than comfortable. The last room they entered was dark for a room in the day-time. The shades were shut and the only light in the room was from a circular orb. Beneath it was a book—a journal that had Sam's name engraved on the front. It was thin and not nearly close to being full. As Chelsea explored the closed and Nick explored the cupboards and shelves around the room, Jake perused through the book. In the front, it had a page that read as follows:

JOURNAL NAME: Memories

PROPERTY OF:

Samantha

© MMXIV GERUDIA BOOKS

It was her. He was sure of it. Her name even matched her handwriting, and unless they were extremely unlucky, they had found her.

"Guys! Nick, Chelsea, come look at this!" Jake exclaimed.

Both friends rushed to see what he had found.

"It's her! It has to be!" He flipped to a new page after the two had seen what he had to show them. "Here," he said finally, "listen to this:

"This is my first entry in this new journal. He treats me so well, the king. He looks cruel, but speaks to me and acts very… kindly…" he hesitated to continue to the next part, "He has been like a father to me, since I have totally forgotten who and what happened to my birth father. I suppose I should…" he muttered as he looked for more important sections, "…I woke up in a dark room of stone. I was lying on the floor, my wrists bleeding from a couple large slits and there was a large chair nearby. I was…" he muttered again, "and I didn't remember how I had gotten there…."

They exchanged glances, all sharing a hopeful moment.

I awoke, confused and lost in the hands of the president. He was holding up my head and his hand was on my heart. His eyes were closed and he was muttering something I couldn't understand.

"What's going on?" I muttered quietly.

He snapped out of what seemed like a trance. He stopped muttering and looked at me in the eyes. There was a strange look in his eye—one I was quite unfamiliar with. It was there only for an instant before he blinked it away. It was replaced by and amused kind of look. "You were hit. You fell and hit your head pretty hard. You've been out for a while."

I looked around. The sky was beginning to fade from the dull grey of the storm clouds to the dim gold of Twilight. The wind began to carry quite a chill.

I sat up, a little confused and disoriented, but not at all in any pain.

"How do you feel?"

"…Fine…." I finally said. I gave a small, nervous chuckle. "I lost again, didn't I?"

He gave a friendly smile. "Had I been your enemy you… wouldn't be in a good situation, let's say."

I continued my giggle. "How vague." It wasn't a surprise. He seemed to like being vague.

"It's getting late. Dinner will be ready quite soon, then it's off to bed for you. Tomorrow, I have some long-term, long-distance business to attend to. You will have a break tomorrow—and for a few days to come. Until I return, a pair of twins shall be here to take care of you. They are my mother and aunt, masters of the arts—almost formidable to my work." He stood and took my hand to help me do the same. "Come: you need rest, and much of it."

I stood and he walked me into the white building. I had dinner and was sent to my room alone; "Mr. President" had work to do before his leave.

"Look at this!" Nick said, pointing to something in the journal. It was part of a dream their friend had had with a man—presumably the president—cornering and interrogating her. The man was speaking to her, tauntingly and in an intimidating way. "The girl to start a war." He read slowly.

"Why is that familiar?" Chelsea asked in deep thought.

"It's how he addressed her on Christmas Day. 'The girl to start a war.' I think it's also in reference to the '_label_' Koume and Kotake put on her." Jake responded. He was leaning against a white beam in the corner of the room.

"It's a wonder her memory has not returned." Chelsea said, shaking her head. "Look at these dreams; they're basically memories!"

"You remember when she told us about her Grandparents' house, right?" Nick asked to Jake.

Rather irritably, he answered, 'Yeah, I remember."

There was silence for a moment before Jake perked up.

"What is it?" Chelsea asked.

He shushed her and listened a few seconds more. Then, he looked at his friends. "Someone's coming! Hide!"

Without question, they all hid, Nick in the closet, Chelsea behind a curtain, and Jake under a blanket next to their friend's bed. The doorknob slowly turned and the door opened. The three could hear the light steps of their friend on the carpet before she noisily fell to the bed.

"Huh?" It was a quiet question to herself. "Where did he leave my Journal?"

Jake looked toward Nick, who looked down at the book in his hand and worriedly shrugged. Chelsea shook her head and watched as their friend pushed herself off of her bed and onto the floor just over Jake's covered body. She moved to the closet where Nick was hiding. Time seemed to slow significantly until, finally, she pulled open the closet door, revealing the hidden boy holding her Journal. She gasped and took a few steps backward. Nick gave his nervous grin and said, "Surprise."

"Who…?" Who are you?" She asked, stopping just before tripping over Jake.

"Your friends." He answered after hesitation. "We came to rescue you."

Rescue me? From wh—wait, 'we'?" She stuttered in confusion.

"From the president." Chelsea said, coming out from the curtain. Jake uncovered himself and stayed out of sight for that moment.

"Who are you?" She demanded. It was easy to see fear in her eyes. She turned and found that she was surrounded; she was unsafe for the first time that she could remember. "What do you want from me?"

"We want you to—"

She screamed, cutting Jake's sentence off. Chelsea grabbed her mouth and held it shut. Jake took her flailing arms and held the m close yet restricted.

"Sam!"

Her name caught her attention.

"Sam, please listen to us; all we want is to _help_ you, to _save_ you." He continued.

She ripped free of Chelsea's grip briefly. "Save me? From what?" She was obviously skeptical.

They all grimaced as they predicted her response to theirs. "From Ganondorf Dragmire."

No one could tell whether she was going to protest with a retort or burst into hysterics. Finally, she did both, crying out excuses like, "He's protected me for a month and more," and, "Why would I want saving from he who protects me?"

"Sam," Jake called in the attempts to calm her down. Eventually, it worked. "Answer me this; did you or did you not lose your memory about a month ago?'

She was confused. "I did… but how do you know this?" She was calm for the time being.

"Did you ever learn who did this to you?" Nick asked, understanding what Jake was doing.

"How do you know someone did it to me?" She demanded.

"Please, answer our questions first. You may find the answers to your questions in your answers to ours." Jake urged.

She seemed reluctant before she said, "No, I have yet to do so."

"But you've come close?" Jake asked.

"…Yes…."

Nick opened to a page in her Journal that described the tall, dark man. He showed it to her and asked, "And it's he you suspect?"

"Have you been reading my personal Journal? How _dare_ you?" She began struggling, again, in Jake's grip.

"Please, calm down! We only wish to help you piece the puzzle of your past together." Jake tried again. She calmed again.

"Of what benefit do you gain in this?" She asked.

Chelsea answered this time, "We, as your friends before this tragedy, want you to remember your past and make the decisions Ganondorf is making for you for yourself."

She gave a sarcastic chuckle. "What a mouthful."

"Assuming a yes to our previous question, let me ask you this," Jake continued. "How familiar is this man to you?"

She sighed in aggravation. "Very.:

"Do you know from where?" Nick continued.

"No." was her quick response.

Chelsea, who was no longer holding her friend's mouth shut, pulled out a newspaper clipping from over a year ago. It was a picture of the Presidential Inauguration—a badly taken shot that showed no more than a silhouette. "What about here?"

She stopped all struggling and tried leaning forward to see the picture better. At length, she asked, "Who is that?"

"This is the current president of the United States of America during the Presidential Inauguration on December 21st year 2012." This hit her like a golf ball to the head. "You should remember that day; it was the Mayan-Predicted End of the World—"

"As we knew it…." Sam broke in. She shook her head, as if shaking away some strong thoughts she was unfamiliar with. "What are you getting at?"

"Ever thought that he who houses you is he who clouded your mind?" Nick questioned.

"No, never." She said.

"How about now?" Chelsea asked.

"Never." She was resolute.

"Look at the similarity! The only reason your mind is still clouded is because you're too _stubborn_ to open a window and clear it out!" Jake finally shouted.

"Stubborn? It would only make sense! You said it yourself; you're _surrounded_ by Taurus! It's natural, Jake, that's the way I am, and I am not going to change." Sam shouted, ripping her wrists from his grip.

The three were shocked.

"What?" she asked with frustration.

"How do you now my name?" Jake asked.

"You said it earlier." She answered.

"No, we didn't," the three retorted.

There was silence before she said. "Well, let's pretend we knew each other at one point or another. What are you getting at?"

"Which sounds more familiar: President Ganondorf Dragmire, or the King of Gerudo Ganondorf Dragmire?" Jake asked.

"President." She lied, of course. Everyone knew it.

Jake decided to stop beating around the bush and get straight to the point. "I'm going to tell you of your beliefs and thoughts of the 'President' before your… memory loss." She looked at him skeptically. "About a year and a half ago, a man took you—an hundreds of other girls—to a place away from the knowledge of other people. You proved to be a threat to him and you, later, escaped. After warning your family, and a few unfortunate deaths, you came to Nick, Chelsea, and me and told us to leave."

She frowned. "Who is this man?"

"Only half a year later that man appeared at the Presidential Inauguration, and half a year after _that_, he appeared in our woods and trapped us there for another half of a year until he took you away. That was Christmas Morning. I am certain that on that very day, you were brainwashed and taken to Washington DC—or vise versa."

She knew what he was getting at. "Why would the world elect someone like that?" she asked.

"Firstly, it wasn't the world, just the United States. Second of all, they were _brainwashed_ to do so, like you are brainwashed to see him with the façade he wears in your presence." Jake explained.

She was wide-eyed and obviously confused. "What?"

"I know, this is a lot. But do you remember the Hylian Legends of the Hero of Time?" He continued.

"No," she lied, "and I'm not listening to these _lies_ anymore!" She screamed before Chelsea could hold her mouth shut.

"Jake, hold her still!" Chelsea said.

He did so and asked, "What are we going to do now? _Kidnap_ her?"

"Not while she's conscious." she answered, holding both her mouth and nose shut.

Their friend struggled for quite some time before calming. Her panic-stricken eyes went distant and began to lack life. Her eyelids suddenly drooped and her body fell limp. Chelsea let go of her friend to allow her to breathe again. Jake slowly lay her down on the floor.

"What now?" Nick asked.

"We have a mission. We're not done yet." Jake answered steadily.

I was in a dark place, wet and cold and confused. Then, out of the blue, a bright light appeared and knocked me backwards onto what felt like grass. "Pathetic little fool! Do you realize who you are dealing with?" A voice came. Then, for only a brief moment, a castle appeared behind a man on a black horse looking down at me. "I am Ganondorf! And soon, I will rule the world!" He rode off, obviously finding me to be little concern.

Then, behind me, I heard a distant, cold laugh. I turned to find myself suddenly in a large castle. I spun around and found that the castle exterior was not longer to my rear. "Welcome to my castle."

I was confused still, but I knew his name and was remembering him. "Ganondorf."

He stood slowly, laughing in somewhat of a triumph.

"What are you doing in my world?" I asked as many scenes and memories rushed past me.

"Your people lack such absolute power that those chosen by the gods wield. So many people under my control would make for an easy victory when I return to _my_ world." He lifted his clenched fist to reveal the Triforce of Power glowing with divinity. "Certainly, he who wields such power would make a suitable king for this world, don't you think?" Before I could answer, he disintegrated into black pieces and disappeared. I gasped and searched for this evil that, I knew, was haunting me. Out of instinct, I willed magic to my hands and moved slowly backwards.

Then, before I knew what I was doing, I turned and expelled some of the magic at my hands at a dark shadow. A long, sharp object was stopped long enough for me to escape. It was hard to follow what was going on, but after this moment, I could see that the shadow was, again, this Ganondorf and that he had just tried to stab me. I was hardly breathing as I watched him stand from his attack. I glared at him as he only laughed at me. "Fight all you want. You know as well as I do that you are no match for me. Whatever _war_ you have planned—"

"—will be completed." I interrupted. "I deny all you have done to me; I deny the lies you have supplied me with and I shall smite you down if you _ever _come near my friends or family again."

His head tilted as if he was speaking to a child. "Do not think it ends here. The history of light and shadow will be written in blood."

I only smiled. "So be it. Perhaps another mistake of history could be averted."

He seemed only slightly surprised at my answer before he closed his eyes and, while his hands rose, he inhaled.

I winced as I fell from my dream. I was traveling sideways to my left, though I myself was not moving. My head was propped up on something quite soft and my shoes were off. Many lights shone to my left, and, because of this, I could only open my eyes slowly. I shifted a little and winced again.

"Sam?"

It was Jake's voice, warm and welcoming. Movement suddenly slowed and came to a stop. I groaned again.

"Sam, are you awake?" He asked.

I finally forced my eyes open and stared at the person looking down at her. "Jake?"

Suddenly, I was moving again. I grabbed a hold on Jake as my surprise overtook my instincts. He held me close and shushed me lightly. "It's okay. Everything will be okay."

I looked around and realized that I was in a small car. There was a warm blanket over me. I pulled it off and tried to sit up.

"Well?" A voice came from the direction we were moving. "Is she awake yet?"

"Yep. She's awake." Jake answered, helping me to sit up. He pulled me close to him.

"Sam?" Someone called. I peered around the front seat to see that it was Chelsea that had called to me and that was driving.

"Yeah?" I was so tired.

"How are you?" she asked.

I closed my eyes again. "About as tired as I was the evening everything began." I answered. "If you stopped and dropped me off at some patch of woods, I'm sure I wouldn't care much until morning." I joked.

"Well, don't worry about that, because it's not going to happen." Jake reassured, hugging me. I returned it.

"So… not to pry or anything, but what do you remember?" Nick asked from the front passenger seat.

I told him. I remembered everything that had happened to me in the past eighteen plus years of my life. All that I thought as I was under the president's care, all I had said unbeknownst to my true situation and all the President had been trying to get from me. I regret my actions. I regret not trying harder to hold onto my memories. But more than that, I regret losing a friend in the mess of shadow that light and dark created.

If just for him, he has been forgiven.

News of my disappearance was inexistent for a few days, but by the time my absence was recognized, we were long since gone. We almost drove all day for a few days and crossed the border into Canada through a patch of woods in northern Maine. From there, we walked to the nearest port.

While we read in the boat—just slightly more public than a fishing-boat—we discussed our destination.

"I think England sounds good." Chelsea started. "Ireland, Scotland, anywhere in the UK." Nick agreed with here.

"That's a rather… strong country. If Ganondorf was going to take control over another country, I am certain that the United Kingdom would be a prime target." I pointed out.

We scraped their idea.

"What about Iceland?" Jake suggested after some silence.

I remember the look we have him; of course he would want to go to Iceland—he's almost obsessed with everything about it.

"I have reasons!" he began. "One of which, it's close by. Another is that it wouldn't be a primary target for the taking. There are lots of places to hide, many people there that would be very supportive of our cause, and a great place to begin a peaceful life." He said.

Eventually, we went with his idea. We were on the boat for about sixteen days as we avoided certain US ship routes and those in charge of the boat fished the Northern Atlantic.

One of these sixteen days, I stood at the edge of the boat, staring west toward my old home in New Hampshire. It was hard to believe—then and now—that I had not been home for almost two years—now seven years. The salty wind carried the well-cherished memories of my family and the sound of the waves washed away the cold, bitter feeling that had replaced most of the joy in my heart.

"Sam," a voice called.

I turned to find Jake standing a little ways away.

"Would you like some company?" He asked.

I smiled. "Company from you is always welcome." I answered.

He came over and we watched the ocean waves pass us by silently and serenely, though I knew very well that there was a vague tense feeling in the air.

Finally, Jake began again. "Actually, I came because I wanted to p… to p…" He paused, looking for a way to word his sentence, "… to ask you a question."

'Is _this_ why he's tense?' I wondered. "Yes?"

We were facing each other. Slowly, slowly, Jake knelt down and pulled out a small box wrapped in a green, worn piece of cloth and a piece of twine. He held it up to me. "Actually, I have two. Merry Christmas; will you open your gift?"

I did, almost sure of what it was. I unraveled the twine and pulled off the rag to reveal a box in the shape of a treasure chest. My jaw was shaking as he pulled out a key from his pocket and shakily unlocked the box. He opened it, revealing a beautiful ring crafted with gold and three sapphire stones—shaped just like the Zora's Sapphire.

"Will you accept me as your husband?" He stuttered nervously.

I was smiling widely. I had no idea how to say the word 'yes.' He stared at me hopefully and I looked between it and him. Finally I nodded and whispered, "Yes."

"Yes?" He asked, standing up.

"Yes!" I answered.

"Yes!" He exclaimed, picking me up in the air and spinning me. We were alone to share our joy. No one was there to interrupt us or ruin the moment; it was ours.

Not much since has happened that pertains to the 2012 end of the world. The four of us escaped and built a new life in Iceland, learning the language and traditions of the culture and building our lives into theirs. Jake and I never had a public wedding, just a few vows spoken to each other with Chelsea and Nick as witnesses. We happily lived our lives together in the village-like ranch we created for ourselves.

However, with us came the story of our travels. The locals always listened in wonder to the histories we shared, and in amazement to the experiences we detailed. Some of these very neighbors grew very sympathetic to our cause and decided to live with us on our ranch.

Thus, the village.

The ranch is self sustaining and volunteeristic to our neighbors. Never did we see the currency of Iceland, for we solely traded necessities for necessities. Life was—and is—good.

I need not go into detail, for I have already done so in other documents stored in the Ranch Archive. However, certain things are in order;

The King of the Americas—and yes, all Americas are his—has taken control already of the UK, Spain, France, Germany, and many countries between him and Russia. He seems to be trying to capture Russia as I write. Still in Europe, he has taken control of the Mediterranean Sea and all countries controlling or surrounding it, including those in Africa. There, he had taken over the Western Sahara, Algeria, Libya, Egypt, and many others between and around. All of Australia was his, and Japan, China, Nepal, India, and a few others southeast of them were also under his control. He even went so far as to take control of scientific and exploration teams in Antarctica. Not to say the countries didn't put up a good fight—they gave him all they had from the sounds of it—but between the US military, the army of beasts, the people of his tribe, and his power, no one could stop him.

However, no sign has been shown that the King will turn his attention to Iceland. We are finally safe here, and one can only hope that my family will grow happily and freely here.

~Year 2019

* * *

**AN: As you may have noticed, this is not over-in fact, far from it-if people want me to continue. If they don't, I'll cut it here and make it short and "Sweet." Otherwise, I'll give you the real ending I had in mind (after all, why would Ganondorf settle for the control of only the strongest countries when he can have control of them all? ;) ) **

**In any case, please enjoy. Regular disclaimers such as "I do not own Zelda..." et cetera et cetera, et cetera... Comments, Reviews, All welcome. Questions can be answered, and If you would like, I can draw a map of the World and show which countries were taken over and which weren't at the end of this story.  
**


	13. Past, Present, and Future

Past, Present, and Future

"Samson!" I could hear my husband calling. "Samson, where are you hiding?" I could only laugh, but he couldn't hear me. I was weaving a basket in the hut-like house and he was outside. I knew where Samson was, but he made me promise not to tell his father. "Samson!"

"Come back inside, dear. He's probably out fishing." I called out the door.

"Sam, I worry about him" He said, walking in the house. "He wanders off almost daily!"

"Does he come back?" I asked.

"Well… yes—but—"

"Then don't worry." I said, "He'll show up. He always does."

Jake grumbled under his breath, something along the lines of "It's time for swordplay."

I put down the basket and opened my arms out like a child. He came to me and pulled me up into a hug. "You are so much like a child, Jake." I said, kissing his cheek.

He smiled. "As are you!"

I smiled. "Thank you." I said, now apart from the hug and looking into his eyes. "Why don't we go to the springs?" I asked.

The springs were places where warm water flowed from or over underground stores of magma. They were places that Jake and I always ventured to to relax or be alone. Today, it was to relax; we weren't going to be alone as two welcome young ones would be with us today.

Reluctantly, he agreed. He wanted to stay in case Samson returned, but I convinced him that Chelsea would be there to watch over him if necessary.

It wasn't far from the small, farm-like community. In the woods, there was a path we followed—slowly because of my ever-growing condition. Birds of all kinds chirped in the trees and warm streams lined the forest like vessels of blood. Bright colored flowers bloomed in the dim, cool of the summer forest. A couple times, Jake would pick me up and carry me though the peaceful calm of the woods. He had completely forgotten about Samson.

Finally, we emerged from the woods to a beautiful view: it was an opening in the surrounding woods where a waterfall hummed and whispered on the rocks and water below. It was a hot water spring fed by a shallow pool on the top of the cliff over a deeper well below. We stood on a bridge under which water overflowed into the forest at different angles. It was like we had found the heart of the forest and the water, smoothly flowing into and from it, was the blood that kept Iceland herself warm.

"It's beautiful" I said, letting myself be absorbed in the calming noise.

Jake wrapped his hands around me and placed both hands on my stomach. I placed my hands on his as we silently listened. Eventually he leaned forward and asked, "You know where Samson is, don't you?"

I looked up at his and smiled slyly, "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You seem to be waiting for something," He continued. "What is it?"

For a brief second, I looked past him and into the branches of the leafy tree above. There, I spotted a little boy with brunet hair and dark brown eyes climbing out on a branch and taking his sitting place just above his father. I looked back at him, smiling. "Happy Father's Day, love."

He gave me a funny expression. "Isn't that something for _Samson_ to say? I am _his _father, not _yours_."

And before either of us knew it, Jake was on the ground with a little boy no older than two sitting on his back. "Happy Daddy's Day, Daddy!" He shouted, hugging him around the neck. He was an extremely smart boy for his age, and his father is mostly of fault. Indeed, this little boy in little jeans and a brown T-shirt was the sparring partner of my husband. Mind, my husband never used his full abilities, and only blocked the swings his son made. The boy loved this time of day just as much as his father did.

Jake lifted his head up, rested his chin on one of his hands and tapped the fingers of the other hand. He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. Samson began tugging at Jake's shirt, hoping that he would get up and play 'Horsie.' "You knew where he was?"

A big smile crossed my face. "Yes. He went to town with Chelsea early this morning and traded a few good-sized fish to the Péturssons for a… a little gift for you." I looked at Samson, who was still pulling at his father's shirt. "Sammy, why don't you show daddy what you got for him?"

Excitedly, Samson hopped off of his father's back and came to his front. When he continued to lay there, Samson shouted, "Get up, Daddy! Up!" while throwing his arms in the air. Jake rolled his eyes and stood up with a groan. As soon as his father was standing, Samson reached into his pocket and withdrew a small dagger in a leather sheath, all of which was handcrafted by the best we knew of in Iceland. The handle was hand-carved from Ironwood and stained a dark, reddish color. Near the base of the handle, an old insignia from Hylian Lore—the bird protector and the Triforce, perfectly carved and painted—was etched into the red of the wood. The Péturssons had grown close to our family and loved to hear the Hylian Legends that now seemed so real. The blade was strong and sharp, professionally folded uncountable times by Mr. Pétursson himself. The blade arched slightly backwards at the tip and the edge glinted a bright silver from sharpening. The leather sheath was beautiful in the ancient sort of way. A large "P" was embedded in the surface—a mark Mr. Pétursson added to almost every finished work he created.

Jake pulled it from the sheath, turned it over a couple times, and replaced it in awe. "This _must_ have cost more than a few good-sized fish…."

"Actually, I brought fish ev'ry day!" Samson said with a slight air of pride.

"For how long?" Jake asked.

Samson continued to smile. "Ev'ry day!"

I couldn't help but giggle. "He's probably given them dinner for a good month or more. He's been doing this since he had that you broke your other dagger," I answered.

"A whole month he's been doing this?"

Samson's wholehearted agreement was followed by a sudden frown and sadness. The young boy clasped his hands behind his back and twisted his toe on a rock. "I'm sorry that I missed pactice." He looked into his father's eyes. "Will you forgive me?"

Jake's face lit up. "Forgive you?" He placed the knife in my hand before picking up his son and swinging him around in circles. "How could I be _angry_ with you?" He stopped and held him in a hug. "I love you, Samson."

The little boy held his father close and nuzzled his head into his father's beard. "I love you too, Daddy!"

I stood, enjoying the moment. It had been quite some time since my husband was as happy as he was then. I instinctively placed my hand on my belly, when I suddenly felt a little pulse. I looked down and grinned to myself. Before I knew it, Samson was standing in front of me, trying to get tall enough to place his ear on my belly. "Is she awake?"

I slowly knelt down so he could hear. "She's awake—and rowdy." I added as another kick tapped my tummy.

"Baby…." Samson called in song. "Baby… be nice to mommy. She's a nice lady; you will like her." Samson loved talking to her. He simply could not wait for her to arrive.

Jake came over and held the three most important people in his life in a big embrace. "I'm so glad this land is untouched. What an excellent place to build a community of Friends and Family!"

My grin fell at that moment, and my unborn child noticed it: she squirmed around as I fell into lost memories. I remembered the night in Keene, NH, now many years ago, when everything began; I remembered the tyrant King Ganondorf, who was still destroying and conquering countries two by two—even three by three; I remembered watching so many people die—the black haired girl, the Flanders; I remembered what it felt like to be brainwashed and how very powerless I was in the long, tedious fight; I remembered our escape from the United States to Iceland; I remembered Kevin and his odd role in all of the previous events; I even remembered what Kevin had begged me to do….

"_Forgive me_."

And then, there was the war. Many names had been given to it: humorously enough, War of the Worlds; cliché enough, World War III; I, however, have named this war the War of World's End. Yes, perhaps Ganondorf had ignored Iceland at present, but how long would this truly last? Surely he would not stop at Russia, nor at the Koreas nor the already-obtained Americas. Surely, he would not stop at nigh-world-conquest; no land, however far, however hidden, however swayed to his power, would slip his grasp by the end. If he could rule an entire world like this with ease, what, then, would stop him from crushing a small country, without defense and alone in its cause? And then, what would stop him from returning to his people, ready to fight the Hylians with an army composed of Gerudo, Monsters, Africans, Indians, Europeans, and millions more? I hadn't before thought of the massive destruction potentially wrought on the land.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

It was this voice that snapped me from my thoughts. It was Samson.

"Mommy! Baby's sad! Why?"

I grimaced a little bit before forcing myself to smile. "Mommy's remembering, dear: old, sad memories." I looked to both my little boy and my husband, who seemed worried by my statement. "I apologize; it's nothing." I sighed before continuing, "I have some records to write when we return."


	14. Sunday

Chapter XIV: Sundays

It was a seldom occasion when I relaxed in the recent days. Many nights I found it difficult to discern whether it was my nightmares or my unborn child's wriggling that awoke me. Surely, both events were my cause anyway. This past night was a similar situation where I got up, left the hut (with a note for both Samson and his father just in case), and made my way to the Library of Records where I read and wrote. It calmed me somewhat to be tensed in reading the long and short histories that did or did not afflict me. It must have been after the morning's first hour when I began dozing off. I awoke to a voice, a dark, sinister voice whose origin, I am sure, we can all guess.

"Your world is coming to an end, and yet you still hide from me…. Where are you?"

I sat up with a gasp, waking any slight drowsiness I had before. I looked around the room, looking for the man I dreaded and a place to hide from him.

I saw no one.

I listened for the voice to return, but it did not. The pained squeal of a mouse was heard outside, and the crickets seemed to almost roar. But the cruel, sinister voice that meant so much death and so much destruction had faded into nothing, like the stars under the rising sun. There was a slight movement in my belly that brought my mind back to some slight form of calm.

I decided to return to my husband and child, even though I had only been there for an hour or two at the most. Night seemed to crawl and day seemed to hardly exist. Years have passed without the King's knowledge of my location, but I had remained tense in any case. Ever since the day the dome over the church appeared, I vowed that I would never underestimate him or his abilities to snuff out and destroy his enemies ever again.

Morning come with a single person bursting through the doorway. "It's Sunday!" She shouted in utter excitement.

I cracked open an eye and forced myself to stand up and find the owner of the voice. I found myself in the Kitchen, staring at Chelsea and Samson, who were rummaging through my food.

"So, is 'Sunday' the day everyone steals food from Sam?" I asked, leaning on a wall of the archway that was the Kitchen entrance.

Both my best friend and my son stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me. "Mummy! It's Sunday!" Samson cheered.

I gave a raised-eyebrow-face to Chelsea, hoping that she may be able to clear some confusion. She smiled her Chelsea smile. "Sunday's the day we make ice cream, remember?"

Oh, that would explain the numerous bottles of vanilla, maple syrup, and caramel and the large amount of sugar and salt. Everyone loved Sunday—even some of the people in town. Everyone came to help (though not much was needed) and everyone shared supplies. Some farms nearby brought their cows to be milked and others brought pound after pound of sugar. It's like a weekly festival enjoyed by all. Even my child yet to be born was as excited as Samson.

"Why are Chelsea and Samson raiding our kitchen?" Jake asked as he made his way out to the bedroom. He placed an arm around my shoulders.

"It's Sunday," I said as if it was self-explanatory.

He looked down at me with a raised eyebrow. "The day of the sun?"

I looked up to meet his gaze of confusion. "'Sunday's the day we make ice cream, remember?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Right." He looked at Chelsea, "I'll go set up the picnic tables."

"I'll get the table cloths and other such adornments," I said, turning around toward the closet in the hall. There, I picked out some appropriate decorations, like a "Welcome!" banner and a wooden fence surrounded the front of the farm that was not engulfed in woods. I placed the ice cream-shaped sign in front of one of the poles. When I returned, Jake had set up the three picnic tables we owned and I placed the tablecloths on them, holding them down with a few small rocks at the two-foot intervals.

Sundays always seemed like short days with many events crammed into one. The families in the nearby villages would arrive before 11:00 A.M., by which time the ice cream-making began, and people began to roam the farm. Chelsea held pony rides for the small children, and Samson played with the children from town. I hardly had a moment to myself; when I wasn't with my husband or son, I was speaking with the other families that arrived. One such time:

"Samantha Gifford,— " that was the name I adopted at marriage— "how are you?"

It was one of the first people we had met upon setting foot on Icelandic soil, Rakel Héðinsdóttir, or Rachael for the untrained tongue, such as mine was. I turned to her with a smile and opened my arms wide in an invitational embrace, which she readily but carefully took. "I am well! How are you?"

"Another day in a world of war, and another day living by the seas. Besides that, I'm doing well." Her brown, curly hair shined in the sun and her green eyes glittered with enthusiasm. She looked down. "How's your little one doing?"

I smiled a half-smile and said, "Samson's growing to be a big, strong boy—smart, too. He can swim, climb trees, and he's even learning how to—"

"No! Not _that_ little one," she interrupted with a laugh, "though he _is_ getting big and brilliant for his age…. I meant the _other_ little one." Her voice was delicate when speaking of my children; she was a friend to the family and has always been especially close to Samson, and hopefully the newborn when he or she came.

I smiled back. "Healthy, though sometimes fitful. It seems to really react to my feelings, even before _I_ do sometimes."

She began whispering to me with a hint of surprise, "You mean you don't know if it's a boy or girl yet? You're six months in!"

"I will know when he or she comes. I don't really want to be told by anyone except him or her." I answered.

She shook her head in dismissal. "Whatever you say, you crazy naturopathic girl."

Jake suddenly came over and put an arm around my waist. "Hey, that's _my_ crazy naturopathic girl you're talking to." His attention went down to me. "Have you had any ice cream yet?"

I shook my head. "I'm waiting for everyone else to get _their_ share _first_."

"Sam, that's _ridiculous_." Rachael said.

"Go get some, before Samson eats it all." Jake told me.

I sighed a little before obeying my husband's command. I'm sure my unborn baby was thanking him dearly; she was squirming and fidgeting around like nobody's business. I walked up to the ice cream cooler, where Nick was serving ice cream.

" 'Ello!" he called, waving his hand. His face was big with a smile. He held up his ice cream scoop, asking, "Want some?"

"Yeah, I'll have a couple scoops, even if it's just for…" I put a hand on my belly as a gesture, "…well, _their_ sake."

(A/N: We got into a short argument about how "their" is, in this ease grammatically incorrect, which is true. My rebuttal was that people don't always speak properly and it made sense in the context I was using it. He dropped it, which is good because moodiness was not uncommon for me.)

"What flavor sparks your interest?"

"Vanilla, please."

He looked down into the vats of ice cream. "Vanilla extract or bean?"

"Vanilla Bean, please."

He swiftly scooped it out and gave me a spoon. "I hope you enjoy it!"

I nodded giving my thanks before making my way into the "toppings table," where I planned to top my ice cream with caramel. I had been staring t my ice cream when I bumped into a less-than welcome character. He was tall with brown hair growing down to his chin and blue eyes that glowed with a piercing quality. His cheekbones were high and defined, matching his otherwise sharp features. His lips were pale and thin, which mirrored perfectly his face. He was scrawny, but not unhealthy; he was actually quite strong; my husband worked very often with him, chopping and stacking wood for less than fortunate people, blacksmithing "S" hooks and other simple devise. My husband and he tended to get along extremely well, and Samson even considered him family. _I_, on the other hand, could not seem to get along with him, no matter what I did. My husband knew nothing of this; I have no intent of splitting up two good friends because of my state of mind.

Why did I not get along with this man?

Simple: he does not believe a word of my past; "Brainwashed? Who could do this to a whole nation—and even if he could, how did _you_ get back to normal?" These are his precise words, but for him to disbelieve so obviously an event I personally experienced was disheartening, especially when it was such a painful experience.

Beyond this, he even believed that Ganondorf had the potential to unite the world under one rule and improve the entirety of it. He thought Ganondorf had some potential _good_. Try as I might to see from his perspective, I was always at an aggravated loss. I don't trust people who have trust in people I fear as much as Ganondorf. However, my husband has no reason to fear or dislike him—and I plan not to give him one.

This man's name was Dagur Skarsten, a man I called Dag for short. When he saw who had run into him, he raised his eyebrow at me, which I tried to shake off and continue on my merry way. Instead, he grabbed a hold of my arm and stopped me in my tracks. "What, no apology?" He asked with a smirk.

"I know; how rude of you." I answered, ripping my arm from his grip. I continued to the table and finished serving myself.

"Are you really going to act like this?" He asked.

"Out of earshot of my husband and son, yes." I walked to a nearby picnic table and sat down. I took a bite of ice cream and realized that Dag had followed me. "Why are you speaking with me?"

He snorted in response. "Actually, _you're_ speaking with _me_." He sat across from me and leaned forward on his elbows.

"Fine; why are you _sitting_ with me?" I continued, putting my spoon back down.

"I have a few questions for you." It was a matter-of-fact answer, as if it was obvious.

This time _I_ leaned forward on my elbows. "Ah, so now _you're_ talking."

He ignored this. "How's little anonymous in there doing?" He asked this with genuine care; though he and I didn't get along, he get along with everyone else in my family; Samson called him Uncle Dag, and Dag hoped very much to meet my unborn child when he or she is born.

I looked down out of a silly habit. "Oh, uh, well. It's doing well."

"'It?' How very insensitive of you; what is 'it?'" he asked.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, taking a spoonful of ice cream and bringing it to my mouth.

He looked down at his clasped hands and sighed. "You're not going to pull the same thing you—"

"Yep. I am."

He, too, was referring to the fact that I wanted it to be a surprise; I did the same thing with Samson. "Do you have any names? Male or Female?"

"Liam, Alaistair, or Solomon if it's a boy, and Erin, Everild, or Rebecca if it's a girl," I stated.

He sat up, suddenly pensive. After a moment, he said, "I like the boy's names—no doubt all choices of your husband—" I growled at his meaning— "but the girl's names… Lily."

I raised an eyebrow. "Lily?"

His pensive expression melted away immediately. "Yes, Lily, Why not?"

I laughed at his defensive remark. "Lily is to Rose is to Violet is to Lilac; it's a cliché flower name; there is absolutely on imagination used in its making! I exclaimed.

"Psh, says 'Samantha Jackson;'" he started. "Your name is as English as it gets!"

I ignored the comment; both of us tended to do that. I took another bite of ice cream, as silence settled.

Finally, Dag broke the silence again. "I heard that Samson got an extraordinary gift for his father."

"Indeed, he did," I continued to eat.

"It was a dagger," he said resolutely.

"Indeed, it was."

"You would put a dagger into your two-year old son's hands?" He was suddenly angry.

I remained calm. "I _didn't_ put a dagger into his hand. Mr. Péturrson gave it to him." He was about to argue again when I jumped in and said, "Besides, my husband puts weapons in his hands all the time—and _encourages_ usage."

He stood up, sounding disgusted at me. "You're hopeless. I'm finished talking to you." He walked off, presumably to find my husband or son and speak with them. I wasn't worried; our discussions were never made clear to anyone else, and both of us honored that action. I finished my ice cream and returned to my hut to wash some of the dishes to be reused. I stared out the open window at the commotion and excitement outside. My husband was speaking with Mr. Pétursson and Dag, Chelsea was helping Samson ride one for her cows, and Nick was eagerly talking with a few of the townspeople. I sighed, remembering the painful memories; it is strange how time can utterly alter the life of a human being. I was happy—or as happy as I could be under all circumstances.

Suddenly, screams and cries seemed to come from nowhere. My head shot up to look back outside.

Everything was as it was; nothing was wrong. Yet, I still heard the screams. There were crackling sounds, like fire, and the fires of guns echoed through my head. No one seemed to hear this besides me. I shut off the water and stumbled from the room.

"Mama! Mama!"

It was the cry of a child. I looked up to the window again. "Samson?" I began to walk towards it again, but stopped short as a dark scene flickered in my mind. Desperate faces cried tears of fear, desperate voices desperate cries. Fire burned, guns fired, everyone ran unless they were utterly unable to, and children stood in the midst of war.

There was a single cry I heard among the rest; it was a woman's. She screamed, and almost an instant after, the boy was shot in the neck.

The scene disappeared and I was sitting with my back against one of the archways to the kitchen. The screams and sounds wouldn't disappear; the mother was yelling at something or someone. I covered my ears, but the voices only grew louder.

I shivered and felt slight movement in my belly. I tried to utter the word 'no,' but I couldn't hear myself over the screams. "Stop it!" I tried, raising my volume slightly. "Jake!" Finally, I heard a slight whisper that was my voice. "Jake!"

A scene flashed again, and this time, it seemed like a memory; women of all different ages were lined up and shackled in the rubble with flames being the only thing to light the scene. Beasts, men, and Gerudo (for only the Gerudo women fought, it seemed) alike stood militarily sound, watching the frightened women. Again, no men seemed to be shackled—most even looked to be dead!

Suddenly, the cries and sobs stopped. All was silent, and the men all saluted in their own way; some with a hand to their forehead, others with their hands to their hearts, and there were even some hands pointed up in the air. The wind and fire was all that was heard for what seemed like hours. Then, to break the silence, there was the flap of clothing and the heavy sound of metal footsteps. Out of the darkness, a man emerged.

It was he; the King of Gerudo; the usurping president; the King of Evil; Ganondorf Dragmire. He walked along the row of people, looking down into their eyes and expressions, hands firmly held behind his back. His expression was not one of excitement, or anger, or happiness, or sadness. It was monotonous; how else would one describe a feature of this face? He was searching, perhaps pensive and lost in his own memory. Finally, he stood before a black haired woman, mid-twenties at the oldest.

"Stand," commanded he the girl.

She looked up and shivered at his stare.

"Come. Don't dawdle."

She looked to her left and right, finally deciding to do what was told of her. She stood, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"Look at me when I speak to you." His voice was not yet angry.

She hesitantly looked up a little, resting her eyes on his. But it didn't last long; her gaze fell to his chest.

Ganondorf lost his patience and grabbed her chin and lifter her face so he could easily see her eyes. His hands were bloody—absolutely coated in blood. I could not imagine there being only a single layer of blood on his hands He simply stared at her for a couple seconds, then asked, "We're not going to cause any trouble, are we?"

She tried shaking her head, but when she found that useless, she answered with a stuttered "No."

He dropped her chin, uttering, "Good," before continuing down the line. He approached me—or at least my vision. I heard him speak, but he did not move his mouth. 'How interesting; a black haired girl here that is a precise twin to she from New Hampshire. It's a shame, really, that there won't be any ruckus this time around….'

"Sam!"

"I am now your king!"

"Sam!"

"Whatever I command of you will be fulfilled."

"We would rather die!" one woman said in defiance.

"Sam!"

"Death is not a primary option, my dear," the king said, shaking his head. "I have worse fates for those who oppose me."

"Sam! Wake up!"

Everything disappeared. I fell into nothingness and slight unconsciousness.


	15. Moscow, Nick, and the Middle East

Chapter III

Moscow, Nick, and the Middle East

It was actually a common occurrence when I had these strange visions and fell unconscious. I also woke up to the same sight time after time; Dag would be leaning over me, a stethoscope to my chest or a blood-pressure cuff on my arm. Jake stood to my left, holding my hand in his. There was almost total silence besides Jake's whispering and my heart-beat. Both sets of eyes were closed and their brows were knotted. I looked to Jake and tried my voice; as was usual, it was unheard, even by me. I gently squeezed m6y left hand, letting him know that I was awake. He jumped a bit and looked down into my eyes. He smiled thankfully, eyebrows still knit. He looked up. "Dag."

Dag, too, jumped. His eyes jumped to Jake immediately, but with a slight gesture to me, Dag's attention turned to his patient. He smiled a little and placed his hand on my forehead. "Good to see that you've come back." After a moment of silence, with my still looking into Jake's eyes and vise versa, he said, "I-I'll go see how Samson's doing. I'll be right outside."

I heard slight shuffling as he crossed the room and a quiet click as he opened and shut the door. After more silence, Jake asked, "Are you okay?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah; my head is swimming, but yeah."

He brushed the hair framing my face. "What did you see?"

Again, since this was such a common occurrence, Jake knew much about what happened to me.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember. It was only a fog of darkness; I couldn't remember anything that might have happened, I only remembered the fear and the fire….

…and Ganondorf….

I opened my eyes and looked at Jake with a new sense of urgency. "Where's the lap-top?"

"Uh—" he turned toward the door, thinking. "—I think… I think it's in Nick's hut." He turned back. "Why?"

"I need it."

He hesitated before nodding and kissing my hand. "I shall return shortly," and he was gone.

During the absence of my husband, Samson and Dag came in.

"Mama!" Samson ran in and jumped onto the bed, hugging me enthusiastically but gently. "Mama's awake!" he shouted to Dag, who was pleasantly smiling at Samson.

"I can see that," he said. His attention turned to me, and when it did, his smile faded and his eyebrows furrowed together. "The good news is this: you and your baby are fine—healthy and unharmed."

I waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, I said, "and the bad news?"

He clasped his hands behind his back, leaned back and forth from heel to toe, and clicked his tongue. "I don't think I ever mentioned any 'bad news.'"

I gave him a skeptical look. "That voice is never entirely 'good news.'"

He sighed a little before looking at Samson. "Sam." The boy's head shot up straight and looked at Dag. "See if anyone needs any help. If not, you can return."

"Okay, Uncle Dag!" Samson ran off, shutting the door behind him. Dag's smile disappeared with the light from the hallway. He looked grim. Quietly, he paced the end of the bed and sighed to himself.

"Is there or isn't there a problem?" I asked, sitting up.

He stopped and sighed again. Finally, he turned and looked at me. "I know what you're going to claim."

I crossed my arms and, before he continued, loudly and sarcastically said, "Oh?"

He put up his hands, as if trying to calm my temper. "Please, Sam. You act as if I mean you harm. I promise, my intentions are—"

"Questionable," I interrupted. "But that is not what I am skeptical about."

As if in mockery, he answered with, "Oh?"

I let loose a single, icy chuckle. "You think I'm crazy."

He sighed and approached my bedside. "You see things."

"Even the blind do sometimes."

"But you—wait, what?" I smiled at the satisfaction of confusing him. He shook his head before continuing, "You see people _die_; you see people get _tortured_ and _murdered_ and… _mindswept_!"

"Brainwashed, actually."

"Whatever! I think you might be a danger to your family and to your friends."

I gave him a look of surprise. "Oh! I thought you were going to tell me something I didn't know."

He growled and paced the room again, head in his hand. Finally, after some rather tense silence, he asked, "What did you see this time?"

"Oh, what do you expect?" I shouted. "I saw the loss of yet another battle to the usurping lord, Ganondorf!" At that name and thought, my sleeping baby shifted. I suddenly realized how loud I had just been. I lowered my voice and said, "Jake is going to get my laptop so I can see what's going on in the world as we speak."

And, since my husband is so quick and has such perfect timing, he walked through the bedroom door with Chelsea, Nick, and Samson at his heels. In his hands, there was an open laptop facing his direction. He pressed a button and handed it to me. I sat up, placed the laptop on my lap and began typing. Samson jumped up onto the bed again with Chelsea and Nick following suit to see what I was up to. Jake rounded the bed and sat nest to me and, presumably feeling more comfortable because of Jake's action, Dag sat next to him. Everyone looked over my shoulder except for Sam, who was leaning his head against my belly, watched the computer monitor, and listened to Baby's movements.

Soon, I had a screen filled with words. We all began to read, but stopped when Samson began speaking. "Daddy! What's that?" He pointed at a "W."

"That's a double-'u.'" Jake said.

"Oh…. What's that?"

"That's an 'a.'"

"Oh…. What's—"

"Samson," I interrupted before he could continue, "would you like someone to read the article out loud?"

He gave me a bashful, innocent look. "Yeah…."

I looked at Jake. "If you wouldn't mind"

He nodded once and began:

"World War III Reaches Moscow

"It seems like it was only yesterday when President Dragmire began invasion on our borders (to be exact, it was no more than six days.) Now, the country is in shambles and under complete control of President Dragmire. Were we a lucky country, he would not have reached our borders until Old Man Winter; shame, ironically; history not repeat itself. [Wow, this must be a very bad translation… anyway….] Never before has Russia been taken over by outsiders. Hitler and Napoleon both failed at the hands of Old Man Winter, but Old Man Winter has failed us today:

"I was hiding in the underground sewer ducts as the war moved east. From there, I heard bombs and other weapons firing and blowing up around me. I have not seen the remains, but I doubt the Museum of the House of the Romanov still stands today, and I also wonder if any snow is left unmelted or unmutilated.

"Russia has never before fought a war of two fronts before—or none that remain in history or legend. It was a surprise when they came in from the Chinese and Kazakhstani borders. They fought harsh wars, from what little I heard of my brother before he went 'missing in action.' They were ruthless and (from what it sounded, literally) beastly. Men, women, and animals fight… (blah, blah, blah," Jake looked for a more important place to continue)….

"Suddenly, everything went silent; fighting ended, screams diminished, and all that could be heard—even to me—was the wind and quiet footsteps on gravel. I looked to my wife and child, wondering whether I should risk returning to the surface to see the outcome: no matter how harsh, it was too short (in all consideration of the President's progress) for a Russian victory. I thank my actions now, as it was soon obvious that we had lost:

"No matter where in the world you have been, his voice has been heard; cruel, dark, and of much omen-bringing, it is recognizable even through a meter of stone (though I immensely exaggerate). He was speaking to someone, probably prisoners of war. I couldn't catch many words specifically, but I do remember a short, concise speech;

"'I am your new King!' He stated this as if Russia had a king before this day. 'Whatever I command of you will be fulfilled."

"Stop," I commanded.

Everyone eagerly looked at me.

"Jake, Dag; you wondered what I saw?"

They both nodded.

"I saw what this mean heard. I watched those people die; I watched the battle wage on; I saw the fire crackle and the people running for their lives if they could; I saw Ganondorf again; I heard his voice; I saw his bloodstained hands; I even watched a little boy die at this… this _demon_'s orders! Don't think me crazy, for I am utterly insane."

My baby felt my rise in blood-pressure and began moving, much to Samson's delight. He had not really paid close attention to the story or to me.

Dag shifted uncomfortably at that last phrase. Jake leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You're not crazy; you're not insane. Considering what you've been through, I'd say you're doing quite well."

I hugged him and Samson. "I love you."

"I love you too," he told me.

"Me three!" Samson shouted.

Then, everyone hugged me, and I hugged back, happy to be in this little family.

I left for the library the next day. I hoped to print off and record the Russian entry from the other day. As soon as I walked in, I found someone that I had not expected; Nick Kelley sat at one of the two computers, reading an e-mail from god-knows who. I greeted him, sitting at the other computer; "Hi, Nick."

He jumped a bit, and then said, "Haro," which was his way of saying 'hello.' He clicked the 'x' button on the e-mail, which briefly told me that he had been communicating with his mother. I ignored it.

I opened an internet window and searched for the site that I found the other day. "How has it been?"

He nodded his head, saying, "Good." He looked at me. "I kind of miss Mum, Dad, and Doug." Doug was his little brother.

"Yeah, I can understand." I sat back for a moment, thinking. "Wow. Neither of my children will know their grandparents…. How sad." The internet screen changed; it claimed that the page I requested didn't exist. I clicked the refresh button and still the same page flickered on. "Damn it!" I shouted, banking my fist on the table.

"What?" Nick leaned over and looked at my monitor.

I pointed to it like I was blaming it. "It… the government already got to it!" I leaned back again. "They've already blocked all the pages referring negatively to the Battle of Moscow. I never got to see the end—what happened, I mean." I sighed. "Knowing the President, he would trace this post back to the owner. I hope they got away, or weren't hurt…."

Nick sighed. "I wonder if _my_ parents were tortured…."

"That depends. They were almost certainly brainwashed, but I don't know if that's what you call torture."

There was a quiet moment before Nick said, "We… thought that you wouldn't want to talk about it, so we never asked, but… what was it like to be brainwashed?"

I stared at him silently. "Ohh…." I inhaled and thought for a moment. I had to think about what it was like: it was so long ago, and I felt normal; just constantly confused. "I imagine it was similar to someone with amnesia; I was just confused."

"…Did it… hurt?"

"In retrospect, no. _Being_ brainwashed wasn't pleasant, but once I was brainwashed, I couldn't tell the difference. I was somewhat content." This thought had always thoroughly disturbed me; was it not for my friends, I would have probably been a valuable asset to the President's Army.

"I hope my family is brainwashed…."

This phrase took some time to register, but by the time I understood, Nick ad already gotten up and left the room. I was horrified by this statement and it almost made me get up and go after him. I sat and thought for a moment before trying the 'Refresh' button, but it did nothing. His statement and the "non-existent" website both angered me: I continued to click the button, growled, and slammed my fists on the table.

I had to get my mind onto something else, something productive, look up a new article on the war—probably in the perspective of the world-invaded brainwashed population. I clicked on the Google homepage and began the research.

"Hey, Sam," Jake called, entering the archives. "How are you?"

I sat back from my book and rubbed my eyes. "Hmm… not well."

He sat down next to me and put his hands on mine. "What's wrong?"

"Everything!" I shouted, standing up. "Everything is going wrong!" I paced down part of the room and ran my hand through my hair. "Russia was our last stronghold against the President; did you know that?"

"Sam, you're over-dramatizing things—"

"Wrong." I turned and looked at him. "With Russia's fall, any resistant countries in Europe and Asia have followed quickly. The war front has not yet moved, and all of the Middle East is in forced fidelity. Few insignificant islands in the Pacific Ocean and a few seas are all that's left. The biggest country still on our side is New Zealand!"

"Wait, what about Greenland?" Jake asked, standing up.

"It fell neutral after the fall of Russia." I began to pace the other way, but added, "Oh, and not much is left of Africa." My heart was racing; soon, he would come for this country unless we resigned and let Ganondorf have complete control….

"Maybe we could hide amongst the people of England? Or even—"

"No. I mean _you_ could, probably. My face is too well-known." I did not want to give in to the idea of allowing this beautiful country into the King's hands.

Jake sighed. "Is there any _good_ news?"

"Yes, potentially. There will be a pause in the way for about three months where 'Mr. President' will be on vacation." I sighed this time. I stopped pacing and miserably turned to my husband. "I… I don't want let it happen, but… maybe we should…." I couldn't finish my sentence.

"…should…?"

"…Maybe we should… convince the republic of Iceland to… to… to sway under Ganondorf's control" I finally blurted out shakily.

His eyes grew wide and he studied me for a second. "Are you...?"

"No. I am not under his control, and it's for this reason that I suggest we turn; we might be able to hide safely."

He gave a sardonic chuckle. "Whole lot of good _that's_ done."

"What? _Hide_? What else can we do?" I stared into his eyes before continuing on. "We have no other option. I will _not_ drag you—and especially not _Samson_—into harm's way!" I looked away. "If one of us leaves, the other cannot follow."

"Sam!"

I looked at him, but remained silent.

Jake stood, shaking his head and still looking at me. "Sam, no." He took me into a tight embrace.

I stood there, still and quiet. I was thinking to myself. Ganondorf once told me of the existence of Hyrule, _and_ of its current events. He must have a way back to Hyrule somewhere in the world. Perhaps there was one in Hew Hampshire? That would explain why he began taking over North America with such a puny state….

After a moment, I heard him sigh and pull away from me. "As much as the idea seems little more than evil, I think you're right; we need to shelter this country form his evil eyes if we can help it, and this seems to be the only way."

I looked down a bit and thought aloud. "Before we jump to that conclusion, let's gather the Council. Perhaps more appropriate ideas could be found from this."

Jake nodded his head in agreement. We immediately set off to town to call together the Council.


	16. Judgment of the Council

Chapter XVI:  
Judgment of the Council

July 5th, 2019: The council gathered at the appointed place—this time, Rakel Heðinsdóttir's abode—and sat together in her living room. She was one of the members of the council along with Dagur Skarsten, Oðinn Petursson and his wife, Katrín, Friðþjófur, who we often called Frið, Lára, Tómas, Yrsa, Örn, and the four of us. Frið was a red haired man of thirty-five with broad shoulders. He stood more than six feet off the ground, but was the ideal gentle giant. He was firm and strong simply by size, yet soft and gentle by nature. He was a gardener on the other side of the village. Lára and Tómas were siblings that were very, very different. Lára was a twenty-five year-old woman with blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was a big woman, very strong and lively. On the other hand, her brother, Tómas, was a lanky, red-haired man with dark brown eyes. Yet, despite their looks, they bonded together better than any pair of friends I had ever known; not only did their minds agree in interest and disputes, but they also shared the same birthday. Yrsa and Örn were the two eldest and wisest people in the area. People would visit these two for wisdom to help them through the difficulties of their life. Yrsa, a woman over a hundred years old, was a blind woman with long, flowing, healthy white hair, but her eyes were fogged with blindness. She takes walks with her ninety year-old husband (not Örn) in the parks daily and has almost memorized their traditional route by the coolness of the shadows and numbers of steps. I didn't know her very well, but she was good friends with both Lára and Chelsea. Örn was even older than Yrsa—old enough to have seen the end of the nineteenth century. He, oddly, had grey hair and grey eyes. His hands were ominously gnarly, contrasting his kind, laid-back behavior. Though he was born in Iceland, most of his life was not spent there; he traveled the world quite literally; by the time the turn of the early century came, he moved to England to learn new European languages, then moved around the continent until he came to Asia; then, he repeated the process again and again. None of the languages he learned ever came close to perfection, but he did what could to scrape by. He arrived in South America as the Cold War began and made his way northward; he returned home just after the Vietnam War. Örn is the Great Uncle and best friend of Dag.

The four of us—Chelsea, Nick, my husband and I—entered last, greeted by Rakel and guided into her living room. As we sat, speech slowly dwindled to both a tense and calm silence. Jake sat me down in a large chair before seating himself in the one next to it. His hand never once left my hand.

After a bit of silence, Yrsa rested her back against her chair and said to me, "Despite your call for urgency, I doubt it would be unwise to ask; how is your youngest faring?"

I couldn't smile, but I answered with, "The baby, despite my constant stress, is well, and… I would like to keep it that way."

Both Yrsa and Örn blinked in surprise. Dag inhaled deeply and held his head high. Chelsea, Rakel, Nick, and Lára raised their eyebrows in surprise. Jake tightened his grasp on my hand. "I do not mean rudeness. I just find myself quite distressed with our current circumstances. Would anyone like to bring anything up for discussion before our main topic?"

I looked around the room, but everyone was silent and anxious.

"Go ahead," Jake urged.

"Very well. I come bearing news of the War and the usurper king. As of now, and for the next few months, he will be on 'vacation' from the war."

There were a few sighs of relief, most of which came from Rakel and Katrín. Dag did not sigh, but instead asked, "How is this urgent news, may I ask?"

I took my hand from Jake and tapped my fingers together, leaning forward. "Have you heard of the War with Russia?" I asked.

Everyone's face went grave, but, for most people, it was the gravity of ignorance. It had been quite some time since we had met, and sometimes the War would slip our minds—_their_ minds. I never forgot, though I sometimes overlooked.

"This was our last hope; as with both Napoleon and Hitler, Russia's greatest ally, old man winter, fended off the unwanted troops." I paused here and looked down. "A few days ago, I received word of Russia's fall, and with it, all of the Middle East, all of Africa, the rest of Asia, and, when I checked today, most of the Pacific Ocean gave him power. All that's truly left is New Zealand and any islands it possesses, a couple small islands in the Pacific (Nive, the Marshal Islands, and the Cook Islands, to name a few), and Iceland. Not even Greenland remains."

No one spoke. Suddenly, we began to feel lonely; after all, we were the last country in the Northern Hemisphere not loyal.

"Thus, I have gathered you all to propose that we fall neutral," I finally explained.

Suddenly, the room echoed with the scraping sound of chair legs on a wooden floor and outbursts of outrage. Even Chelsea was among this.

Jake stood. "Please! Everyone! One at a time! This is merely a proposal; other suggestions would be _more_ than welcome, but—ONE AT A TIME!"

Finally the people silenced. I had covered my ears at the yell, but turned and thanked him. "Now, we will start with Dag and go around the room." I watched Dag as he uncomfortably stood any cleared his throat.

"This… this is not a proposal you would normally suggest. I worry that you might be—and forgive me—under his influence."

Jake stood, obviously more insulted at this than I. Jake had no words to say, so I took his hand and calmed him back to his seat.

I returned my attention to Dag. "You are forgiven, and no, I am not 'under his influence;' the way I am now seeing it is as a more secure way to hide—and keep the rest of the country safe while I'm here. I would very much like to see my child born somewhere safe where it and its brother may grow up happy together. I… I have come to terms with the idea, and am willing to try it. If anyone else has any suggestions beyond this one, they will be gladly considered."

Dag's face changed a bit from nervous to resolve. "I think it is the best idea you have ever presented to this council." He sat down and gestured to Örn, who was left staring wide-eyed at his grand-nephew. My mouth was sent agape for before I followed Dag's actions and motioned for Örn to begin. I would ignore the insult—or compliment—whichever it was intended to be.

Örn stood slowly, obviously still surprised. Finally, he said, "Of all the men I have seen in my years—or even read about in old history books and heard of through legends—none could compare to Ganondorf in wit, cunning, power, or even execution. From what I have heard—or, rather, understand—he was able to control you even before you were brainwashed." Here, I gave him a look of confusion, to which he responded, "The dome: when he… convinced you through your dreams to leave the dome." When he saw my face of understanding, he continued. "_That_ is a frightening example of how powerful and influential he is. You must understand how we would be nervous of your sudden change in mind."

I nodded, saying, "Yes, it would be difficult to understand. But _you_ must understand the situation we are falling victim to. I understand that you are all confused by this behavior, but you must also be worried of your current position. Anyone who is NOT, make yourself known and explain."

No one stood, but everyone fidgeted anxiously.

"And anyone with any idea of how to test me should come forward as well."

Again, no one stood, but looked back and forth at each other.

"Örn, do you have any suggestions in place of the action put forth today?"

After a moment of deep thought, he said, "No. I believe falling neutral would be our best option. Other countries are doing so now, so it will be less conspicuous on Iceland's part. And, in falling neutral, we are less likely to be invaded by far. We are a small country with small defenses, not so much an interest to a warlord. But perhaps it would be wise to inform New Zealand of this decision." Örn had been sitting, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. He stood up and looked around at everyone. "Despite what we've learned and know, this option seems most suitable for the purposes of safety, does it not?"

"We can only oppose him for so long: once the war begins again, why would he ignore us? Why exterminate a swarm except for only two or three mosquitoes? Lára said.

"Because those two or three are useless anyway!" Chelsea said, standing up. She looked at me. "I _saw_ what they did to you! You had _no idea_ who I was! who _he_ was!"—she gestured to Jake—"even who _you_ were! I've seen his power and who _knows_ what he'll do to the country while it's under his rule!"

"And who knows what he'll do to the country while it's _not _under his rule?" Yrsa voiced, standing in opposition to Chelsea.

Tómas stood between the two and said, "Enough; there is little use for such idle bantering. If we have opposition, we need options; if we have agreement, we must make use of it."

Chelsea stared at Yrsa for a long while before sitting. When Yrsa heard the creak of the floorboards and chair, she, too, sat, Tómas following silently.

"Thank you, Tómas." I directed my attention to Chelsea. "I understand wholeheartedly your opposition, and that's why I brought the meeting together. Do _you_ have any suggestions?"

She closed her eyes in thought, only to open them not long afterwards. "I think I read somewhere that Ganondorf knew a way back and forth between Earth and Hyrule. Surely not everyone in the entire world has surrendered to his power; the remaining not loyal to him should find a way to Hyrule."

My eyes widened at the thought. I looked at Jake, whose eyes found mine instantaneously. Admittedly, since I was a little girl, I had always wanted to see the beautiful land of Hyrule—the imagination of another man, a land impossible to find physically. It was an impossibility that suddenly seemed on the tip of my fingers. I did not voice this and said instead, "How long do you imagine it would take to find that out? Not even _I_ remember what exactly he might have said about the whereabouts."

She thought for a moment. "Maybe there's one in New England—I mean, that would make his sudden appearance in New Hampshire make sense."

"Whoa, Chels! You're talking enemy territory!" Frið cried out.

"Hey, I'm trying, aren't I?"

Finally, Nick stood up. "All in all, it seems the option put forth is reasonable. If we fall neutral, it will be less questionable if we travel internationally. If we put Sam's idea into play, then perhaps we can escape to Hyrule!"

"And warn the Hylians, while we're there…." I muttered to myself. No one, not even Jake, heard.

"Yeah, and what about the _beasts_ that will roam the area, huh? I doubt their ability to be tame, and I doubt their King would be the sort to consciously stop their actions. He's ruthless and evil!" Oðinn spoke this time.

Everyone around me muttered in agreement. I sighed and put my hand up for attention. "There was one individual I met while under Ganondorf's control that held a free mind. He claimed that Ganondorf was somewhat decent a ruler." Everyone moaned and groaned in disgust. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but he had a good point: unemployment has never been lower, the countries have never been more united, few people under his rule have died in the war, and he has only used necessary funds for his work. So much as it seems, he's leaded, but not selfishly like other governments have…."

Everyone had been staring at me in disbelief, and I realized what I was saying; I was defending the actions of Ganondorf, the King of Evil!

"I… I mean… I just don't think… I don't think he would be…." I sighed. "I don't know what I'm saying." I leaned back into the chair and slouched so low I almost slid out of the chair entirely.

Silence echoed dangerously through the room. Finally, to my intense relief, Örn stood and said, "As you yourself once said, there is no such thing as 'black and white' and only 'light and dark greys.' But that is not what we've been brought together to discuss."

Then, Yrsa stood. "I suggest a vote to see where we all stand on the given subject: fall neutral or remain fighting."

Everyone nodded in agreement. I reached out for Jake's hand inconspicuously, but he didn't respond. I looked at him and he kept his eyes fixed on the coffee table in the center of the room.

I sighed and sat up. "Alright, let's _actually_ go around the room this time." I glanced at Jake, who seemed unwilling to speak, so I turned to my left instead. "Nick, how about you begin."

He stood. "Let us fall neutral: Yea to the proposal." I half guessed why: he would be able to visit his family again.

I nodded. "Chelsea?"

"…Fall neutral." She hesitated, but when she spoke, her words were undeniably certain.

Again, I nodded, "Rakel?"

"Neutral."

"Lára?"

"Neutral."

This moved around the room until I got to Dag, where I hesitated in expectation.

"I can see it in your face, Sam; I would be surprised if my answer, falling neutral, didn't surprise you." He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Indeed, you did catch me off guard." I looked at Jake and lightly called his name.

"I vote we fall neutral." He was quick and harsh with his words. They made me want to cry a little, but I ignored it.

"And, of course, you know my position on the subject." I carefully stood up and said, "Perfect: it's a unanimous decision. Yrsa, Katrín, and Örn, can you appeal to the Prime Minister of Iceland?"

All three nodded their heads. "You go home and rest; I'm sure all this action has stirred the littlest out of some rest," Katrín said.

"And, while we're on that note, you're seven-month mark was just the other day. Take it easy," Dag informed me.

I grinned. "Yeah, yeah. No need for the lecture."

Eventually, the formal gathering became purely social, in which Jake said nothing. As evening fell upon Iceland, we guests left for our respective homes. Jake and I walked together, but he was very reserved and almost dangerously sharp when spoken to. I dearly wondered what was wrong, but decided to save the conversation for our return home….

* * *

**Note to the Reader: I can understand difficulty in pronouncing these words when there are so many different things going on; most of these names are truly Icelandic, so are spoken with a different accent, too. To begin, any vowel with an accent mark over it (ex: á or í) just means to make that syllable the more prominent of rest; (ex: Tómas is pronounced TOE – mas). The next thing is the letter "eth" (ð). This consonant sounds like a "th" as in "thousand". The next letter is Ö, which is no more than English "oo". The dots tell someone to make it the long vowel sound. Next, all "j" are pronounced like the English "y." Finally, the letter "thorn" is an interesting one; it looks like (þ) and is pronounced both like the eth and the "j" (ex: in Friðþjofur, you would pronounce it frith – THYO – fur. Fun fact about is name, Frið means peace and þjofur means thief; put together it can mean warrior or, literally, peace-stealer.)**

**That's all, folks!**

**PS: I REALLY like reviews!  
**


	17. A Contagion?

Chapter V:

A Contagion?

We entered the house, dim and lifeless in the quiet. Samson had been babysat by Katrín and Oðinn's daughter, Eydís, and she left as soon as we arrived. Samson was asleep. I stood in the doorway and watched as Jake angrily kicked off his shoes, hung up his coat, and quickly strode into the living room. A cold wind blew and chilled me—even in the summer—and reminded me to close the door. I pulled off my own shoes and quietly made my way into the room. Jake was sitting on the sofa, head buried in his hands and hair tangled in his fingers. I went to him and placed both of my hands on his giant shoulder.

"Are you okay?" I ventured to whisper.

I could see that his eyes were black with anger that I've never seen before. I was a little worried, but that wasn't about to make me leave.

Finally, he worriedly asked, "That individual you met… it was Kevin, wasn't it?"

I inhaled deeply, then nodded carefully. "Yes. It was."

"I…" he paused, taking his hands from his head and shaking them before his face, searching. "I _saw_ him."

I tilted my head. "What? When—? Where?"

"I saw him today, during the council."

I stared at him and he stared at the floor. We were silent for some minutes before I asked, "How do you mean?"

He hesitated, visibly shaking. "I mean that I _saw_ him… but…."

I waited, but when he did not continue, I urged him on.

"…it was dark…" he seemed less angry, now recounting the tale, "…I heard voices, Spanish voices, speaking happily to each other. I heard you speaking to the council as well, and when you said the President's name, he appeared and was also speaking. The voices from before took form as people—and one of them was Kevin."

I frowned at that. That sounded like a very vivid daydream….

"Kevin and his family, I suppose," Jake continued. "The President was speaking from behind his desk—in fluent Spanish, I might add…. I remember the words 'familia' and 'unidad.'"

"When I met him in the White House, he was talking about how the President promised to bring his family together and help them prosper," I murmured in thought.

He shook his head vigorously. "That was just a brief scene. Kevin's family disappeared, and two witches—Koume and Kotake?—appeared by the President's side. They… they were discussing the war."

My eyes widened. "What did they say?" I asked almost excitedly.

He sighed. "They—" he stopped short and perked up, as if listening. He suddenly stood up and pulled out the CD player. Once "Bohemian Rhapsody" was playing thoroughly along, though not so loudly as to wake Samson, Jake continued, "they spoke of Iceland and New Zealand, and how they are suspiciously of the last of those to turn."

I gulped. "Then it's a good thing that meeting was held."

Before I could say anything more, he said, "They're still looking for you. They've interrogated anyone that ever knew you about your disappearance, even people that know us—Nick Chelsea and I—about the lot of us." He placed his head in his hands and shook the former from side to side. "He's desperate, Sam. I don't know _why_, but he wants you for something. He searched for you in England, he searched for you in Egypt, he searched for you in Australia, China, Japan, _Russia_… he's searched everywhere, in all of the major countries. He knows that the rest of the countries are about to fall, and he's sent Koume to search in Asia and Kotake to South America to continue the search. I… I have a feeling that the President's 'vacation' will be more work than the word implies."

My breath was very shaky at his words. Even when I did my best to hid and protect, I was still dangerous. I realized then that what Jake was feeling before was not anger: it was fear and frustration combined. I touched his shoulder so he would look at me through his sweat-covered fingers. I turned him around and embraced him. He did the same to me, clutching me as if if he let go, I would disappear from him forever. "Jake," I began.

"I know what you're thinking," he started between sobs. "Don't do it. Don't go—you _can't_ go!"

I sighed. "Jake, I'm a danger to you, to this country—to my son and child to be. I don't want them in the middle of this game."

"…Even so, you _can't_ go: I don't know what I would do without you!" he argued.

I nervously and sadly laughed. "It's dangerous—"

"—to go alone!" he cut me off. "So take me!"

His eyes were dark and red with tears. Finally, I stated something that I hoped would comfort him. "Jake, the youngest still has two months until birth. I won't leave until I know he or she is safe. I promise you."

He stared at me for a while before giving me a half smile, indicating that he could deal with that answer. I wiped his tears away and smiled as best as I could and said, "I love you, Honeycake."

Suddenly, his face went from still slightly aggravated to confusedly amused. "'Honeycake?' Where did _that_ come from?"

I shrugged, now actually smiling. "I dunno. Maybe I'm craving some cake made of honey… who knows?"

We sat on the couch—now listening to "Princes of the Universe," also by Queen. As we cuddled together, I remembered my sister, Shannon; we used to listen to Queen a lot while growing up—in fact, we were brought up on it by our mother and aunts. I sighed, but my bittersweet thoughts disintegrated when I heard a small voice:

"Mama… daddy…?"

We looked up and saw Samson stumble out of the hall to his room toward us with sleep. His face was red and he had tears running from his eyes to the floor.

Before we could ask, he sniffled and said, "I had a bad dream."

I furrowed my eyebrows and Jake and I beckoned him to come forward. Once that permission was given, he ran up to us and climbed into Jake's and stared at the hallway as if he was afraid someone was there. Knowing Mommy's delicate position, he clutched Daddy, grasping his shirt as Jake had been grasping me.

I ran my hand through his hair and asked, "What was it about?"

He whimpered. "The 'Presdint….'"

I felt horrible knowing that in itself. "Oh, I'm so sorry…."

"I 'member another guy, too. He had short hair and blue eyes—like mine!" he pointed to his own to eyes, which made Jake and me smile. "…but they kept talking about some girl with my name… 'Sam.'"

I looked carefully at Jake.

Suddenly Samson was distressed. "He said they'd hurt him if he didn't tell, 'n' he days he dunno where his daughter is, an'—"

I cut him short. The President must have been talking about me, but is Samson having dreams about my father?—a grandfather he never met? "Daughter?" I couldn't help asking for clarification.

He nodded. "Mm-hm! and when he didn't tell, mean Presdint hit him with a _big_ sharp tail. 'N' then he started sayin' something and he fell asleep!"

"Jake… I think that was—s"

"But then, Presdint looks at me and said that he would get me!" He sobbed even more at hearing it. I hugged him lightly between Jake's chest and mine. "Is he going to get me, Mommy?"

I forced a smile. "Of course not. He was probably talking about someone else. After all, your name is pretty popular. Even _I_ have the name 'Sam!'" I tried to reassure him, but he made a connection I had not thought he would:

"Is he going to get _you_, Mommy?" His eyes peered up at me in worry.

After more hesitation than I should have given to him, I told him that he would not. After a bit more comforting by Jake and me, Samson fell asleep in his father's loving arms and we all sat together. When I knew Samson to be asleep, I worriedly looked at Jake. "'Daughter?'" I whispered. "'Blue eyes?'—'big, sharp tail?' Is this my father?—was this my father?"

He lightly shrugged so that Samson continued to sleep. "It seemed so…."

"How is our son dreaming about a grandfather he has never before met?" I asked in bewilderment.

At first, he looked about as confused as I was, but then said, "Possibly the same way you dreamed of those people in Russia and elsewhere."

I bit my lip. "But… my father is his blood. It would be like me dreaming of a grandparent I believed to be dead in current or historical (meaning real) circumstances!"

We both sighed—and Samson sighed a shaky sigh because of his earlier-shed tears. We put Samson to bed and left for our own bed. It seemed strange; two people in one day had seen scenes like I saw. I really had to wonder why…. Was it a contagion?

* * *

**A.N.: More excitement is to follow in the next chapter-the story actually begins again. Sorry about all this "filler," but it _is_ necessary, I promise you. Now I have a question for the reader: should I make a saddening plot twist in my story, or should I make a happy (ish) escape? You can answer via post or via poll, though I prefer poll. Thank ye muchly!**

**Oh, and comments are cool too.  
**


	18. The Wonders of Iceland

Chapter XVIII

The Wonders of Iceland

The next day, Samson had just about forgotten his nightmare from the night before, though, of course, I had not. He and Jake both continued to have fearful visions on their minds. I told this to both Nick and Chelsea and, as it seemed, they were seeing strange visions as well. Chelsea had a dream—fairly present day, so she thought—where the President traveled into Giza, Egypt. The people there worshiped him like a God, which, I am certain, he did not mind. Nick dreamed of his family and that they were doing well. Apparently, however, they believed their son to have died seven years ago. This was not comforting to him.

Only a couple days later, the Prime Minister of Iceland passed the request (eagerly, I hear) and Iceland fell neutral (about the same time as Zambia, Burundi, and Nive did.) The message sent to New Zealand, (sent just before we claimed neutrality) reached its destination within a day or so. We have the internet to thank for that! Every other country fell neutral within three or four days of New Zealand.

Ganondorf Dragmire was the first human in the history of the Earth to have actually completed world domination. It is strange to think that the whole world is dominated by a character imagined by the mind of a simple man—Shigeru Miyamoto.

Weeks had passed, and all news of the War had died down to the bare minimum. Since the last episode, I had not had a vision about the President or his minions; Chelsea, Nick, Samson, and Jake had no more visions either. My nerves did not lighten—especially with the news of my father and of Koume and Kotake. Dag gloated, privately, of course, telling me that he won the debates of the council (it _was_ his idea to fall neutral the first day of the first council.) We all pretty much resumed our daily lives—except for me, whose daily life was prohibited by pregnancy.

Eventually, I decided that I would take as many walks through the woods as I could before condition, husband, doctor and child prevented it. It was on one of these walks that I mistakenly took the first step toward the land of Hyrule.

While I was under Ganondorf's control, he made almost a routine of teaching me how to use and control magic, and since then I have made it a priority not to use it. To pursue a skill taught by him seemed almost to be playing to his hand. Everyday, I was tempted by some internal force to practice the magic, but, as often as I could, I withheld. When I couldn't, I practiced the magic with defensive intent: I learned to make small barriers or tricks, but little more (or so I knew of.)

Today, however, I consciously used magic.

I had settled myself on a large boulder in the woods where I could read up on the histories of the Holy Roman Empire and Egypt, and at times speak them aloud for the Unborn. Usually, the combination history and my young one could take my mind off of the growing evil and use of magic, but for some reason, my mind continued to wander. As my nervousness grew, I began collecting my books to leave, but a dark voice stopped me short.

"In such a nearby country… is it finally she?"

My heart began racing. I knew that voice anywhere—sardonic, sinister, ominous; the pinnacle of evil. My child felt my fear and responded with a squirm of discomfort.

"You…." I hardly managed the word; my throat seized up.

"You sound surprised. Did you think that I would not find you eventually? I'll admit I took my time: five years of searching, five years of war. Is this where you've been all these years?"

I did not answer. I stood in shook and could barely think coherent thoughts. The only think I could think was that only magic would save me. I unsuccessfully pushed the thought away.

"I should have known you would hide here. I know the way your mind works: 'Such a simple place, what a wonderful place to hide. The President would never come here.'" He approached me, and as he did, I turned and looked at him. He was smiling darkly, but the look faded and disappeared as if he had found the wrong person; of course this was not the case. His eyes darted up and down my form, and he smiled again, malice tipping the edge of his lips. "You carry a child," he whispered only so loud that I could hear him.

A wave of panic swept over me. I put my free hand over my belly and took a protective step backward.

"What a predicament…. Perhaps you ought to do what you're told… otherwise, I would worry for your child's sake."

His voice alone made my mind jump and run in my own head. I could barely retain my consciousness or my sane mind; actually seeing him again threw me into a state of shock and horror. I wanted to tell him to stay away from me—and especially my child—but neither my mouth nor lips would cooperate. When he noticed that I was firm in my resolve not to come along so easily, he slowly began to move toward me. It was then that my instinct took over. I stepped back and lay my hands on the surface of the boulder and whispered for the Fae of Iceland to help me. I could feel his footsteps grow louder—closer—but suddenly, they stopped. I opened my closed eyes hesitantly, afraid that he was within half an arm's-length away from me; he seemed to have hardly moved—and in fact, his attention was no longer on me; Ganondorf was swatting at a multitude of swarming creatures, glowing like giant lightning bugs, yet shaped like tiny humans—at least in silhouette. In my awe, I stood staring and following each tiny creature with my eyes.

One of the creatures flew up to me and pointed away from the scene, rustling and squeaking in some strange form of communication. Its wings were formed of some semi-transparent leafy material, and its limbs were thin like twigs, colored grey or brown. Its small head was covered in knobs and knots, strangely perfecting the nude humanoid. Its glow was like the sun upon a tree's leaf, and it distracted me for a moment before I fully comprehended the meaning of the tiny creature; it was distracting the Evil President and allowing me time to flee! I moved down the path I was directed, but as I did I noticed some strange movement behind me. When I turned back, I saw a mirror image of myself. In my confusion, I froze, and in aggravation, the tiny Fae grabbed and pulled on my ear and hair to finally turn me away from the scene.

With that, and a tiny squeak, I ran from the scene as fast as my legs could carry me. Given my condition, I am still surprised in my speed. I only once turned back, but Ganondorf seemed not to notice. Turning forward once more, I made directly for the farm.

When I arrived, I found the door open—which only added to my anxiety and nervousness; if Ganondorf found me in the woods, who's to say he didn't find Nick, Chelsea, or Jacob—or worse, Samson? I slammed the door shut and turned my back to the door. Trying to catch my breath, I slid down the door until I was kneeling. I looked around; the house seemed fine, and I could hear the calm voices of Chelsea and Nick, so I easily assumed that Ganondorf had not reached the farm or had not found use of the area.

Then, I heard little footsteps across the floor. I looked up and saw Samson. "Mama, why're you sitting there?"

I smiled to him. "Sam, can you get Auntie Chelsea, Uncle Nick and Daddy?" I asked between breaths.

He nodded hesitantly and ran through the house calling each person by name and following up with, "…Mama wants you!"

I was still breathing heavily when the four came in. Oddly, Nick was the first to respond; "Sam, what's wrong?"

"I dunno!" Samson innocently replied.

Nick glanced uninterestedly at Samson before returning his desperate one to me. "You shouldn't be running so hard—and you know it! So what's wrong?"

I gulped, wetting my throat so I could speak. "He's… here…."

Nick and Jake glanced at each other at the assumption, but Chelsea pushed for certainty. "'He?' Who's here?"

I looked at her for a moment before answering, "You look into my eyes and ask me again, damn it, 'who's here?'"

She glanced apologetically at me, but Jake went on: "Where, Sam?" He knelt down and took my hands in his. "Where was he?"

"In the woods near the large boulder I read on."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "So he was in that clearing, tracking you down?"

I shook my head. "No. I was on the boulder. He snuck up on me. He was traversing the woods and happened upon me… and my child," I finished, looking down. When I returned my gaze to my husband's he was looking at me—and the Unborn—in worry. I didn't know if he was going to cry or not, but the moment passed and he looked to the others.

"We need to leave _now_! Who knows if he followed you—and if he did, who knows how far behind he is—?"

There was a knock at the door, which made all of us jump. We all looked at each other in worry, knowing no action to take. We couldn't answer it if it was him, but if it was a friend, we couldn't leave them out there. But, of course, if_ checked _and it _was_ him, I might as well turn myself in. Chelsea, Nick and Jacob might also be recognized and the risk couldn't be taken. These thoughts were silently shared within the group as our minds were simultaneously working over-time to figure out what to do.

The knock sounded a second time, and besides the fear it struck, it also gave me an idea.

"Samson," I whispered, "can you go into the living room and look through the window and tell me who's outside?" If it _was_ Ganondorf, Samson could tell us and we could hide—and if Ganondorf saw Samson, there would be no recognition to be had as he's never seen him before. Virtually, Samson would be safe.

Despite this, Jake looked at me in horror and Chelsea and Nick were dumbfounded. Samson, on the other hand, bravely nodded his head and ran into the living room before his father could protest. Jake looked at me in a heavily scolding manner, which I returned with a shrug and a look of innocence.

However, those tense stares ended abruptly when Samson shouted, "It's Uncle Dag!"

The silence and tension in the room ended with a simultaneous release of our breaths. Jake helped me to move away from the door as Chelsea and Nick opened it.

"Well, took ya long enough!" he joked.

"Sorry, Dag," Chelsea answered. "We were having a bit of an—"

"Uncle Dag!" Samson ran up to Dagur, who was still in the doorway, and jumped into his arms.

Chelsea finished with the word "emergency," pulling Dag into the house and out of plane sight.

As he was playing with Samson, he didn't catch her final word immediately. However, once he did, he instantly stopped playing and looked to the two adults standing.

"'Emergency?'" He then saw me sitting on the ground—breath almost back—in my husband's arms. He set Samson down and assumed the worst. "Why? What happened?" he demanded, checking my pulse, which was still racing, and my temperature.

I pushed his hand away. "The President. Ganondorf Dragmire is here."

He froze and his eyes widened significantly. "But… he's on vacation!"

"Apparently visiting the countries he did not have to invade through war to conquer." Nick said almost sarcastically.

"So, is he after her?" Dag asked Jake.

"As always."

"And he's noticed that I'm pregnant," I told him.

He grew pale and looked at me intently. He was at a loss for words.

"We all need to get out of here." Jake announced. "Dag, if you're caught affiliated with her, you're going to get tied up in a dangerous mess. It would likely be best if you—"

"I'm not leaving. My most important patient is in danger and I need to be there for her—and I can't forget about little Samson. For all practical purposes, he's already seen me with her and I am as much affiliated with her as any of you are."

"No, we can't have another, unnecessary life on our hands. I don't mean to 'shoo' you away, but go home!" Jake continued.

Dag sat resolutely. "I'm not leaving."

The two grown men remained still in a stare-off. Finally, the anxiety building up inside me made me burst: "Fine, he comes, leave it at that, we need to get our _now_! You know, _before_ the King of Evil enters this household."

"But… where do we go…?" Nick shrugged, looking around. He brought up a depressingly obvious point. Everyone looked at the floor as if embarrassed that they had no answer. "Do we leave Iceleand? Do we find a way to stay?"

I looked at my husband and nuzzled my head into his shoulder. I was very scared, and all seemed impossible—I was seven months, soon eight months pregnant, and Ganondorf already knew that I was there. He would be searching until he found me, or was certain that I was no longer present. An unfortunate thought came to mind at that; "I doubt we could leave Iceland; now that he knows I'm here, he might halt all ships exiting the ports."

Dag shook his head defiantly. "We've only fallen neutral. He has no control of our ports."

We all stared at Dag in disbelief. Finally, Chelsea threw her hands into onto her hips and asked, "Do you want to bet on it?"

He was silent, and that silence only intensified over the passing minutes. Not even Samson made much noise; he could sense the tense fear in the air. Nevertheless, as children do, he couldn't keep quiet for long.

"Mr. President is here?"

Everyone looked at him and nodded gravely. "Yes, son," Jake said. "He's in the woods."

After a moment, in which time he seemed to be thinking, he asked, "We should hide, right?"

Jake looked from him to me in slight amusement. "Like son like mother."

I wasn't in the mood for the joke. Instead of answering my husband, I looked to Samson. "Yeah, at least for a little while."

Again, he waited in thought. Unless you knew him like a mother, father, aunt or uncle, you wouldn't notice the gears moving through his head. He stood simply staring down the hallway, eyes still and unblinking, breath involuntary and slight. The only form of visible movement he showed was a slight rubbing of his fingers. Chelsea and Nick quietly whispered together and Dag and Jacob conversed through eye contact and movement. I sat, staring at my son in expectation. He had some idea, and somehow I knew it would be a good one.

"I have a idea," Samson began. Everyone's eyes were on him "but, if I tell you, you have to keep it secret—and you CAN'T get angry… 'k?"

I nodded, and Chelsea and Nick did too, but Jake eyed our boy silently and curiously and Dag asked him, "What did you do?" to which I yanked his hair inconspicuously.

Samson dug his toe into the carpet behind him. "Hide 'n' Seek," he said. "We need to hide, and… I have the best hiding place—it's where I go anytime I play Hide 'n' Seek."

Jake grinned mischievously. "And where do you always hide?"

Samson caught the mischief. He crossed his arms and shook his head side to side. "No! You have _forget_ after I tell you, okay?"

Jake seemed taken aback by this, and the condition that Samson presented to us was surprising to all in the room. A sudden anxiety in my heart pushed me to respond no matter how ridiculous the request. "Of course, Samson. Wherever the hideaway is, we would never wish to intrude. But if we are to leave, we must do so very, _very_ soon." My teeth began chattering as soon as the sentence was finished. My nerves were wearing thin, and I couldn't allow them to break, if only for my children.

Samson could hear the worry in my voice, though. With two sad eyes and a frown, he nodded. "There is a cave under the waterfall geyser. The cave isn't too deep and it's a fairly roomy space there. I—I even dug a second way in from above ground so if anyone began to suspect me, I could get away!..."

Sometimes it was frightening, the reckless things Samson would do. I had taught him to swim long ago—and it seems those myths of teaching infants to swim within the first six months after birth were actually accurate. He even dives deep in the water for his age. When I heard of the submerged cavern bit, I gulped in motherly concern and glanced at my husband. He didn't do well with the underwater portion of swimming. I had no issue—but with my condition, I knew everyone else would; even Samson was cautious of rough-housing around me. The thought that Samson had made an escape (or entry) route that avoided going underwater was profound.

We all looked at each other, hope and agreement in our eyes. Jake returned his gaze to Samson. "Brilliant! What we need to do is gather a few necessities and leave—that's what we'll do," Jake gestured to the adults. "But I need to ask a great favor of you, Samson; do you remember Rakel's phone number?"

Samson nodded vigorously.

"I need you to ask her to watch the farm for a few days, okay?"

Again, Samson nodded vigorously. He ran from the room into the kitchen where the phone hung and began dialing. The rest of us gave each other a silent glance of hope, sorrow, worry, fear, and a strange protectiveness toward each other. This look didn't last long, however, and we quickly made for separate rooms to gather what we could. After five years of peace, we were stirred into danger once more.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you to all those who have been following my story for so long, and I apologize IMMENSELY for this delay... Unfortunately, I think the delays are only going to get worse; college will begin soon, and I'll be having trouble balancing that and work in itself. I will do the best I can, but this is a warning to be wary.**

**Also, the option is still up for debate; for those of you who care for the story to continue, would you rather a sad twist or a relieving middle? This question only pertains to one or two portions of the story, but will change the way the final battle is fought (Yes, there will be a final battle, just not soon). **

**And, of course, reviews are welcome and well appreciated. Again, thank you fellow readers.**

**~The Great Ahtnamas**


	19. Farewell to a Fine Home

Chapter XIX

Farewell to a Fine Home…

Samson silently made his way through the forest, Dag, Chelsea, Nick, Jake and I closely following. He weaved back and forth between logs and rocks, following some invisible path made up in his mind. He never so much as let a stick crack underfoot. The rest of us, on the other hand, weren't so quiet. It was obvious Samson's experience. The shade of the trees hid us from sight, but it didn't decrease my worry. I was almost disoriented by the constant movement of my head; nothing could calm my worries, and I was looking everywhere for any sign of the King of Evil.

Even over the cracks and scuffling, Samson's gasp was easily audible. He stopped midstride, which, admittedly, almost made the five of us trip over him. For a moment, we all just stood there, listening. There was a faint murmur in the distance, and Samson crept silently forward after making it clear that we weren't to move. When he reached the edge of the wood, he froze, shivered, and silently stepped backwards. As almost total silence descended upon us, we could all hear the vague sound of voices, speaking back and forth; one was heavily male, and the other was female. The voices were hardly distinguishable, but it was difficult to rationalize the idea that those voices might not be that of Ganondorf and someone under his rule. I gulped and Jake pulled me close. I wanted to call to Samson and tell him to come back, but I knew I would be heard, if by Samson, then also by the ever-searching President. When the voices, ceased, Samson silently came running back. He looked at us all.

"The Pres'dint is here in the woods, but both he and the weirdly-dressed girl he was talking to aren't going where we are."

We all sighed in thanks at this, but Samson wasn't finished:

"He said he was looking for a girl…. Someone that was about to… have a baby."

I paled at this. Samson wasn't ever to know of the President's true intentions. If we were ever in trouble (like we were then) I never wanted Samson to fear for me. Now, it seemed impossible to keep this unfortunate truth from him.

He watched me intently. "Mama," he began after a very uncomfortable silence, "Why does he want you?"

We were all surprised with how utterly direct he was. At first, I didn't know what to say, but eventually, I shook my head and sighed sadly. "I don't know," I told him. "He's been after me since before he was President. He's never told me _why_ before, but somehow he manages to keep on my tail… I… I'm so sorry, Samson."

"Does that mean he's going to get you?"

I gulped, but did not respond. He was so nearby: I didn't know whether or not he would find us.

Finally, Jake took the initiative and said, "Look, if we stand around and talk, he'll _definitely_ get her. Samson, if you wouldn't mind showing us your secret…."

The dark sadness in Samson's eyes was choked back with little work. His eyes became clouded and harsh in determination. He nodded and, without another word, led us in the direction of the grotto.

It wasn't long before the roar of the falls reached my ears. I was filled with a sudden burst of anxiety and hope. Before we reached the edge of the woods, Samson stopped us. He scouted the area, a thing he took upon himself multiple times as we were escorted through the forest. He beckoned for us to come when it was clear no one was around. When we were near enough to hear his cries over the thunder of the falls, he pointed into the pool of water and said, "The cave is down there. I'll lead Auntie Chelsea, Uncle Nick and Uncle Dag there. They'll have to open the cave from the inside for us. Once they're in, I'll come back for you, Mommy and Daddy!"

We nodded in agreement, and the four of them dove into the water. Their blurred image quickly disappeared under the foam and mist of the waterfall. I silently held my breath, waiting for something bad to happen, like a cave-in that prevented entrance, or one of the four drowning…

…or worse.

Jake could sense my anxiety, and he pulled me closer into his arms. "Don't worry. We're almost there. Samson and the others will be fine, and so will you and the baby."

I gulped. His words did not comfort me in the least. I watched the water intently, waiting for the tiny, red head to emerge from the water. Suddenly, Jake's grip slackened, then disappeared entirely. When I turned to ask, he was on the ground, face down, unconscious, and President Ganondorf Dragmire stood, sword in hand, staring at me. I put my hands to my mouth, unsuccessfully stifling a cry. I held the urge to run and dropped to my knees next to my husband. Ignoring the eminent danger in front of me, I took my dear husband's hand in mine and began begging for him to wake up, but he did not move. His face was twisted in pain, and upon realization that I had lost, I began to cry.

Ganondorf placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Let's let him rest peacefully, shall we? He'll have plenty of time to live with what is to come to pass." The squeeze of his hand became less like a comforting one and more like a trapping grip. "Come."

I turned on him faced. "What did you_ do_ to him?" I demanded.

Without his cruel eyes, he might have looked innocent at that moment. "I didn't hurt him, if that's what you mean—at least not terminally."

I shakily hissed at him and returned my attention to my unconscious friend. I wanted to beg for him to awaken, but I knew no good would come of my efforts. I pushed a strand of hair out of my face before reaching down and hugging him as if I was mourning a dead friend. I whispered his name through his hair, hoping for a reaction—anything subtle would do—but, of course, there was nothing. My tears began again, and I sobbed into the mass of my husband's red hair. It didn't seem to matter that, whatever Ganondorf had done to him, Jacob had ultimately been spared. I knew that I would never see him again; Ganondorf would make sure of that this time….

And then, it hit me: I would never see Chelsea again, or Nick, or Dag or Rakel… and worst of all, I would never see my son again. Of course, if I told Ganondorf of the others, _especially_ Samson, he would have taken him too, at least so I presume.

At that thought, I remembered that Samson would be returning quite shortly. No matter how much I wanted to be with him—or any of them—I could not allow them to be spotted affiliated with me.

I raised my head a bit so I could look at the man that was my closest friend and protector. I kissed him once on the lips, then again on his forehead. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my husband you'll be."

To this day, I cannot say for sure, but I feel that he heard me for when I looked upon his face, it seemed a small smile appeared on his face. I bit my lip and whispered one final "I love you" before turning and facing the fiend.

"Are you satisfied with your good-byes?" he asked me casually. He even sounded a bit bored, which infuriated me. I raised my hand without thinking and slapped him across the face.

"Of course not!" I shouted. "I'll never see him again! You could never give me enough time to tell him good-bye!"

He took my wrists angrily and pushed me up against a nearby tree—the same, in fact, that Samson had sat atop when waiting for his father. "You really should learn your place. That is no way to behave in front of a _King_."

I struggled desperately in his grip. I glanced at his face—angry and determined—and I slowed until I was still, gasping for breath and doing my best to hold back tears. He held me there a moment longer, watching as my face fell. I was losing everything so very quickly. All I could do now was protect my loved ones by leaving them and doing as I was told. After a moment, he released my arms and flipped something on his wrist open. When he began talking in it, I realized that this was a sort of walkie-talkie. It surprised me that he was using technology so casually, but I was also so lost in my despair that I barely noticed.

"Return to the bay," he said after calling attention. "The one we are looking for has been found. I want Soruné, Luke, and Tom to meet me in the village square." He kept a single eye on me as he awaited an answer.

"Affirmative," a masculine voice responded.

"I'll be there in ten," another said.

"Certainly, Your Highness." That was a female voice.

After a few more replies, Ganondorf closed the device and quickly pinned me to the tree by my left shoulder. I didn't look at him. I was far more focused on my silent husband. "You are going to do exactly what I tell you, am I clear?" He asked this in a frighteningly quiet voice. For a moment, I pondered whether he was more frightening when he yelled or when he whispered like this, but the thought died away as I brokenly nodded in response. I didn't look to see whether he grinned or not. "Good. Come along." He said this as if I had a choice; my arm was painfully locked in his grasp and he was forcefully pulling me away from the waterfall.

The return to town was not as silent as I might have appreciated. Not only did my captor attempt to lightly converse with me, to which I almost never took the bait, but the forest seemed to hum and shake as we passed though. The vibe of the forest shook me, and even induced a chill to run down my spine every now and then. I inconspicuously looked around, unconsciously searching for the Fae that had helped me the first time.

"I must say," Ganondorf began, breaking the stark silence, "the trickery you portrayed this morning was very good. I believe you've been practicing…."

My heart hammered hard at his last word, which surprised me about as much as the word itself. It almost hurt to have heard him praising me. "Never; not _your_ magic," I spat angrily.

"Oh, come come, my dear! Don't lie, If you hadn't touched magic, even subconsciously, you would have forgotten how!"

He was taunting me. I remained silent, if only for my good, so he continued:

"By the way, have you noticed…?"

I didn't want to answer, but I couldn't stop myself in time. "Noticed what?"

"The Fae you called upon are nowhere to be seen. Rather than help you, they have begun fleeing you." He clicked his tongue three times in a "tisk-tisk" fashion. "What a poor, deserted girl."

Despite the words, he was certainly taking amusement from my position. "There was no doubt in my mind,_ President_" and I said that word with venom "that _that_ is your doing."

"Such doubt would be incorrectly conceived. There is a magical barrier around us that prevents being of such magic as they are from approaching. Your fairy friends are at bay…" here, the woods opened up and the stone gate of town became visible, "…and now, you have _absolutely_ no where to run. Welcome, Samantha, to the World of King Ganondorf Dragmire."

I was less surprised by Tom and Luke than I was of Soruné; the name was strange enough, but her clothes finally tipped me off; she was a Gerudo. Since there was no sand to worry about, the veil over her mouth was drawn open and she wore little else than a tube top colored purple and matching pants. Her gold eyes watched me cautiously and triumphantly, her white-painted lips curling to match, glancing between my baby and my eyes. Tom was an old man with a long, frizzy beard and deep, blue eyes. Both he and the young brown-haired, green-eyed fellow, Luke, watched the King cautiously.

"This…" Soruné began when she saw me, "…this is the 'Girl to Start a War?'"

I flinched at this. It had been years since I had heard that phrase aloud, and I _still_ had an intense distaste for the name.

"Strange, I imagined this sneaky ruffian to have crimson locks and golden eyes…." Luke mischievously said this, cautiously glancing at Soruné, who took the bait:

"This girl is nothing compared to the Gerudo! How _dare_ you assume such _nonsense_?"

She had her sword unsheathed and pointed at Luke threateningly when Ganondorf spoke: "Soruné, be calm. Attacking an ally is a foolish act. We shall be going our separate ways soon enough." His voice was harsh, but not cruel.

Soruné sheathed her sword. She turned to President Dragmire and bowed quickly. "I apologize, my Lord."

"Your apology is accepted," he answered with a restricted bow of his own. "Come. The bay is not far, but to loiter here longer would put us at risk of losing the girl," he drew close to my ear and added, "and that will _not_ happen again." His grip tightened and he roughly turned and pushed me down the dirt road.

As they conversed from topic to topic, I watched the town. It almost seemed barren to the untrained eye. One or two people watched me sadly from between houses and through windows. Few people came outside, and those that _were_ outside ran inside as soon as possible. They were scared, but I doubt a single one was as frightened as I. It caught me off guard when I saw Oðinn and Katrín standing dismally in their doorway. Eydís trembled in their arms. Their eyes were fearful, and I could sense that it wasn't just my safety they were concerned about; what about Samson, Chelsea, and Nick? What about my husband? And what about my child yet to be born?

I did not show them the fear I felt in my heart; through my eyes, I told them that the others were fine, and that, as long as I lived, my baby would be protected.

Discreetly, they nodded in both acceptance and farewell.

We descended the edge of the hill that lead to the ports. On a normal day, it would have been a beautiful sight, but not today. The sun that shone from the sky, half covered in cloud, only threw shadow over the bay; a distinct line was drawn across the land where drifting cloud threw shadow, and I couldn't help but feel a little loss at its crossing. We were immediately boarded onto a large ship. I never once struggled, though I desperately wanted to; my baby was too precious to risk, and I feared for Iceland if I escaped. Then again, when I thought about it, I could never have separated from my family with less.

I was left alone as soon as the ship was separated from the port. Luke boarded a separate ship, but Thomas and Soruné boarded with the President. They all parted from us and went below deck. As I stood alone, I watched Iceland retreat and shrink from view—though before much time had passed I saw four silhouettes of people off in the distance. It took me a moment of realize who they were; Dagg, Chelsea, and Nick stood next to a tall, tall character, namely Jake with little Samson upon his shoulders. Faint and distant, I heard the tiny cry, "Mama! Mama!"

I forced my tears back as I listened. So much as it hurts me to remember it, I was too afraid to say it aloud; it was running through my heard—the words, the faces of those that held it, and the knowledge that I would never see them again. Desperately—so desperately—I wanted to tell them one thing, though never would it have been "Good-bye…."

…It would have been "I love you…."

* * *

**A.N.: I apologize for the brevity of this chapter; on a good note, the next chapter is mostly written in the book and half written on the computer, so there shouldn't be a large time gap between here and there. **

**Also, for all those that have been keeping track, I asked whether or not I should write a sad plot twist to the story or not (as I have more than one idea in mind.) All you slow-pokes that didn't answer (and cared) it has been decided: you shall see when it arrives. **

**And no, Luke won't come back, Thomas will be a side character for the ride, and Soruné will remain for some time. Guess where Samantha's going! (A cookie for either the ultimate or penultimate location will be sent to all those who answer correctly, so PLEASE leave a comment-even if this isn't the last chapter posted, and you've got more to read, PLEASE leave a comment.)**

** Muchas Gracias a todos!**


	20. The Library

Chapter VIII

In the Library

I remained, watching the fading shores ahead for a very long time—even after it was impossible to see, I stared off in its direction. A disturbing mist was rising from the water that day (though it would dissipate by noon;) it reminded me of an old, 19th century book I once read by Bram Stoker. Even this horror story was a welcome way to forget the present. Nobody spoke to me; I was left alone, and I was happy with the solitude.

Of course, this scene could not last forever. I must have been standing on that deck pacing only when I felt the need to move, for six or more hours, lost in thought, lost in hope. The sun was beginning to fall behind the horizon, casting a strange gleam of pinks and purples into both the sky and the Atlantic. It was then that I decided to explore my (at least temporary) prison. I found the only door on deck with ease, and from there, was lead directly to a predetermined destination.

The hall was grey and empty—save for a few round, red and white life preservers and paintings hanging decoratively. A rope was hung as a railing up and down stairs and through hallways. As I traversed, I would quickly glance through any available window and try the door. Every single door was locked except two: one was an empty bedroom furnished with a bed, desk, chair, and a lamp. One window stood half submerged on the opposite wall and a door (which led to a simple bathroom) was next to the door opposite the bed. I quickly left the room, unsure of whose it was, and headed toward the unopened, unlocked door at the hallway end. When I opened the door, I was surprised to walk into a large library. I could not see anyone present, but the place was so large, one could never be sure. I listened carefully for any movement, but, besides my own heart, I heard nothing. I didn't know what was worse; waking through a ship where you knew President Ganondorf Dragmire lurked, or walking though a ship that seemed abandoned. I stepped quietly forward, my food meeting with a red carpet I had not expected. I was surprised by the sheer immensity of the library. I was just below deck: how could even the Allure of the Seas hold a library this large and ornate? Well, perhaps that particular ship is an exaggeration in comparison, but certainly this vessel was not this large! As I was focused upon this minor oddity, my curiosity led my feet to the shelves. Upon examination, I found some books that seemed readable to me—_Of Mice and Men_ and a compilation of Shakespeare and Poe to name a few—but some were completely strange to me. I remember one particular title had a series of boxy characters—which I only remember having seen, not read.

So as to make sure it wasn't just some strange font or design, I pulled the book from the shelf, and inspected it from top to bottom, cover to cover, pages to spine, inside and out. Not a single word was legible to me: the only thing I could interpret was any woodcut or ink-drawing within the book. Despite my inability to read the content, however, I knew precisely the language: it was Hylian.

In fact, the whole library was sorted so books written in English stood on one or more shelves together, Hylian on another few, Spanish on another, _Chinese_ on yet another—but books written in one other language unrecognizable to me dominated the rest of the shelves. Rather than the blocky characters of Hylian dancing across the pages, more fluid characters crossed the pages. Again, not a single book was legible to me.

Then, another thing surprised me: at one end of the room, a large window stood, letting in the hot sunlight of noontime. I stepped cautiously yet curiously toward the light, and once my eyes adjusted to the outside light, I saw a fast, endless expanse of sand. Behind a stone wall, which this particular room seemed to stand high above, sand dunes stood tall, threatening to move in and bury the ship—

—and that's what troubled me; where did the sand come from? Where's the water—we _were_ submerged at this level—and since when did the sun come back up? It was on its way down, and stars should have dotted the sky! I stood silently, unsure of how to react. Should I run from the room to find refuge where things made more sense? No; where would I go? Nothing made sense anymore. Should I remain and explore the strange Library? Perhaps, but I was even more afraid to do that. Did I belong here? What would Ganondorf—or anyone else for that matter—do if they found me here? Of course only the last of the questions were fated to be answered.

"Are you lost?"

I whipped around to the sardonic voice of pity. When I said nothing, however, he continued. "This is a library, in case you didn't know—in fact, it's _my_ library. This is where I get all of my necessary information—and store it." He walked around and passed me, placing a book on the large desk, cluttered with paper, scrolls, and books, and reached for a book on another bookshelf. "Isn't it interesting, though, the similarities between two worlds that have never met before? Text, language, stories, theories," he held the book out to me, silently telling me to take it, "even religion."

I took the green book in my hand and observed it inside and out. It held the Symbol of the Triforce upon the front, glimmering gold despite the obvious age in the rest of the book. The pages were brittle and browned, and the edges looked torn in some places.

"The countries located on the eastern edge of Asia, for example, use boxy characters in writing—and, of course, so do the Hylians. I find it interesting that the creator of Hyrulian Legends of this world fluently speaks and writes the language—Japanese, I believe it was." He stopped here and studied me. I wasn't reading the book, though it was clear that I wished I could. "Oh, come now. You don't mean to tell me that you, one of the few who know so much of the land and legend of Hyrule, cannot read?"

The implication seemed cruel; I wasn't illiterate! I could write—just as I am now—and I would be a strange person indeed to be able to write but not read! "I can read!" The words were defiant and angry. "I can read English, some Spanish, and minor Italian."

"But not Hylian or Gerudo? Or even Chinese or Korean, for that matter?" He shook his head and started walking off in the opposite direction. "Shame, really. I expected more from you."

That really made me angry. If I knew of somewhere I could go, I would have stomped off at that instant. Instead, I simply stood, fuming and watching him. He reached for a few large tomes and put them into my hands. The top one was a "Hylian-English Dictionary" and the second was a "Gerudo-English Dictionary." I stared at him in confusion.

"Take my advice; learn them. I'm sure you would rather understand the conversations when we arrive at Gerudo Valley." A wicked gleam brightened his eyes and a mischievous smirk pulled upon his lips.

I froze. My entire body went numb and it felt as though my heart had stopped mid-beat. The books fell from my hands, but I didn't notice even when an echoing "bang" erupted as the hit the floor. My whole body felt like it was shaking, and my throat tightened up. I barely managed to force the word "What?' from my lungs, and when I did, I hardly heard it.

"That is our ultimate destination, Samantha. You thought we were returning to DC, did you?" He laughed sardonically at me. "Your friends found you there once, and I won't allow them to do it again. Rest assured, however, that as long as you remain under my thumb, no harm will come to them."

I shook and tried to repress my sobs. We both stood still, I avoiding tears in deep thought of the worst things to come, he awaiting my ultimate reaction. My rage was quickly building from sadness. My shaking hands turned to fists, my nails threatening to draw blood, and the numbness of shock became a stark, strange, and unwarranted feeling of betrayal. Something in my mind—perhaps restraint? common sense?—disappeared at that moment. A loose growl escaped my throat. I bent down, grabbed one f the books before I could think twice and threw it with as much force as I possibly could, letting out a furious scream. "Thief!" I cried, throwing the next book. He blocked each throw as if he was well trained and fully practiced in this type of assault. "Murderer!" As that was the last book on the floor in front of me, I made my way to the book shelf and continued. "Damn you! Damn you! I wish you _froze_ to death in _Russia_! I wish you would _burn_ in _hell_! I wish someone would torture _you_!" My wishes soon turned to strings of profanities, then back to screams, yet with each book I threw at him he grew nearer; he caught every book and placed them either on the desk or back on the shelves when he was near enough. "Wish you had never come here! I wish you were sealed away forever!" Never once, however, would I wish not to know who he was and where he came from. When I think on it, it would have been to my benefit not to have known any of it.

Suddenly, in two quick strides, he closed the rest of the gap and took my wrists tightly in his fists. Both of my hands held books, and I had closely watched how he caught each and every book. Knowing he would have to catch the books, I let all five of them drop from my hands. I was ready for him to let go of my wrists to catch them, but his grip never even lessened—and the books never touched the ground. I went silent when I saw the books floating—even rising—off the ground. The books moved with Ganondorf's eyes, replacing themselves on the shelves. The room looked just as it had only moments before with no books or loose pages on the floor.

I held my breath as his amber eyes, now darkened with fury, returned to mine. He pushed me backwards slowly, yet steadily. "What gives you the right to defile a book—a source of history—in little more than anger?"

My stomach flipped. I tried pulling my wrists from his hands, but to no avail. His grip was so tight, I could feel my pulse strengthen, trying to get past his iron fingers. "Let go…." I pleaded.

"A tiny percentage of these books were written within this century—such ancient relics are fragile; do you _not_ understand this?" His questions were low growls, intimidating in and of themselves.

I couldn't pay much attention to his words: I was beginning to wonder whether he was going to break my wrists or not. "Please, stop…."

"Perhaps," my back made contact with the wall behind me, which almost knocked the wind out of me, "this is not enough to teach you. May I take it a step further, then?" Before I could answer, he threw me off to the side. The impact of the wall confused me a bit, and when he threw me, I had no way of catching myself—but I never hit the ground. My eyes had shut for their own protection, but the strange feeling of gravity after I stopped moving forced me to open my eyes. The floor was right below me, and I was almost parallel with it. My stomach was mere inches from the ground, and upon this realization, I gasped and put my hands out in front of me. The magic that had kept me afloat dispersed and my knees came down to meet my hands on the floor. My heart was beating rapidly. He could have killed my baby… if he had allowed me to fall… why didn't he let me fall?

"Let this be your one, final warning. I have _no_ intention of killing your child; who knows? she might become useful to me one day." He turned and began walking away, stopping only to add, "The door is locked, so don't think of trying to leave this room."

Silently and frightenedly, I made my way back to the center desk where the three books sat. I figured it useless to read through the dictionaries, but I quickly glimpsed through them to memorize both the Hylian and Gerudo alphabets; that way, when I needed to look up a word, it was easier. This tiny distraction did not deter my mind from the previous occurrences, but Ganondorf was right in more than one case; I _did_ want to know both languages, less for anything useful and more for my own benefit.

And, despite the insane way I threw those books around, I_ did_ have a certain respect for tomes and novels. If he hadn't been so cruel toward me I would have tried not to throw them, but the thought of being trapped in Gerudo Valley was almost maddening. I didn't have a hookshot or bow and arrow, so the idea of escaping seemed near impossible.

Then, I remembered my child; I was due in a little over a month. Would I deliver by myself? I don't know if I could do that; my child squirmed at the idea, a movement that both reassured me and disturbed me. She hadn't moved since we boarded the ship—which also meant that she would be awake all night again.

As all these thoughts were running through my head, I had been writing the English equivalents of the letters on the front cover of the green book. When I studied the letters carefully, my other thoughts dispersed and I picked up the green book. "The Book of Mudora!" The title page also read The Book of Mudora, but also with a subtitle: "Words from the Golden Three, and Prayers Passed from Prashti (the Hylian equivalent of a priest)." Unfortunately there was no table of contents, so I just had to explore the book. It reminded me of the Hymn books from church.

I deciphered half a chapter and realized that I ought to be looking at other books—specifically Gerudo texts—but I promised myself I would continue the text of The Book of Mudora later.

I perused through old and new books, noticing that Ancient Gerudo was spoken similarly to English: phrases and sentences were set up like English. Modern Gerudo (simply called Gerudo by the native speakers) was more like Spanish; the phrases were all backwards. Thankfully, I had taken a couple Spanish Classes during High School, so this wasn't as much of a problem as it could have been.

Ganondorf continued to linger between bookshelves for a long while, but he never once heeded my presence. I caught myself staring at him—and I'm sure he knew I was, but he neither caught my gaze, nor let on any awareness. He didn't even seem to remember what had happened only an hour ago.

I continued reading from my choice text of Modern Gerudo. It discussed some key pieces of Gerudo History—the symbol of the culture, for instance. Long, long ago, Gerudo Valley used not to be desolate; the roaring river that ran as the border between Hylian and Gerudo had cut deep into the clay and rock, limiting the amount of water the Gerudo had access to. When this river ran shallow at the bank, trees lined its edge. It was a beautiful, bountiful place, and water was not just part of a distant imagination. The Gerudo symbol was created as a land in water's image, a reflection. When the symbol was first created, the tribe valued the sun and the moon equally as one brought heat and life, and the other brought the cool night and rest. These became the two circles opposite each other. The center section represented the Gerudos' love for the fertile land and respect for the root systems of plants. Above this is a giant mound, either representing fertile soil or a distant, leafy treetop. However, time has passed and things change; the sun and moon remained, though their meanings altered. The sun represented heat in all its intensity, and the moon represented the bitter chill of night; these simple symbols always reminded me of Koume and Kotake. The root system became a barren skeletal structure and symbolized the strong wills of the Gerudo. The mounds became sand dunes, burying all which truly mattered to the Gerudo. The watery reflection has now become no more than a mirage.

The content itself was depressing. It was also terrifying, as it reminded me that that was my destination.

I had only just begun a new subject—the Goddess of Sand—when I was interrupted:

"Dinner is prepared," the president said upon approach. "Since you have not eaten a bite since we boarded this ship, I am making it a requirement that you go."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Why do you care whether I live or die?"

He gave me a look of surprise. Then he crossed his arms across his chest and asked, "Why would I go through the trouble to find you just to let you die—or even slow me down?"

I flipped the book shut and stood up. "That's not what I asked! Supposedly, I'm a threat to you; it makes sense why you'd hunt me down, but you never even threaten to kill me! What do you intent to do to me?"

"My intentions are mine to know and mine alone," he began.

"No! You have taken _everything _from me—my home, my family, my child—and you just stand there and tell me to deal with it? No! I'm not—"

"I haven't touched your child," he told me angrily.

I stopped myself from continuing. I could not believe I had said that, and I only hoped that he wouldn't take notice in my fear; instead, he seemed to feed on my fear. He raised his eyebrow at me and narrowed his eyes, a grin slowly forming at the edge of his lips.

"There is another…." He said this quietly, but it was obvious that he knew this for sure.

I stepped back, wary of his next move.

"Well," he began semi-amiably, "who is it?" He approached me from around the table.

I moved away, desperately trying to keep my distance. "I've told you enough!" I shouted.

"Do you insist upon being so stubborn and uncooperative?" he asked. There was a sly gleam of warning in his eye, but I took no heed of it.

"I don't want you harming him!" I was beginning to hate ach passing moment in his presence more, and that hatred only grew with his next words, mumbled to himself.

"Ah, you had a _son_…."

Every time I said anything, he found some way to make it work to his advantage. I shut my mouth and said nothing, eagerly wishing for him to drop the subject.

"What is his name?"

I backed away, but stayed quiet.

"I hope you understand that, if you don't tell me outright, I have other means of prying information I want." There was a dark glow around his hands and in his eyes when he told me this. His intention was to use magic—possibly similar to that which I experienced the first time I met him. As much as I was not willing to suffer that kind of torment, I was also unwilling to reveal anything about my child. He already had one in his grasp, and I feared for that child's sake dearly.

"Why do you _want_ to know so badly?" I demanded.

He stopped in surprise, slowly allowing his grin to spread across his face. "Child of the Girl to Start a War?" I shivered at the phrase. "Son of the woman who has somehow evaded me for all these years? The boy could know things—how young is he? young enough to still wield malleability in his mind?"

It felt as if my heart stopped. He wanted to use my son? For what?

"Come now, be a good girl and tell me his name…."

"No," I told him. "Whatever you want, you'll have to take from me. I won't let you touch a hair on his head!"

"Do you really think you could stop me?"

I ignored the question, knowing quite well what the answer would be. "And even if you found him, he would never worship you as King; you are a nightmare to him—the monster lurking in the shadows, the beast haunting his dreams—the demon that took his mother and sibling away!" His eyes grew dark, as if trying to match my description. "His upbringing has taught him to fear you—to never engage you. One day, when he can read, he will know precisely who you are and what you've done."

Ganondorf remained, staring at me for a long time—as if trying to read my thoughts. Finally he began, "That man—Jacob Gifford—he's your husband…."

The simple fact that he had been so unobservant was strange to me. I did not say anything, wondering what he could possibly be up to.

"Jacob… no, you always named him 'Jake…' the same as the one within the dome?" He grinned, "Chelsea and Nick—those were the other two, and they're still with you, aren't they?"

"No, you took me away from them," I told him.

He waved his hand through the remark, ignoring it entirely. "If Jacob Gifford is your husband, it means he's the father of your children as well…." Here he gave me a questioning look, as if considering the possibility that the children were not my husband's; to this, I gave him a very angry look. He smiled, as if having realized something he never took notice of before. "Your son was spying when I spoke to Soruné."

The sudden claim shocked me. My eyes widened and I gasped, but he went on:

"He's a boy not older than three, small, but with potential for growing into a strong warrior," I clenched my teeth at the thought, "red hair, like his father's, but with a slight waviness framing his face. I must admit, he sneaks up on people well, but he ought to learn to hold in surprise."

I gulped. "You _saw_ him? He never said that!"

He laughed an honest laugh. "If the King of Gerudo did not know a child was watching, he would be losing his touch!" He began moving toward me again. "Of course, had I known it was_ your_ child, I would not have allowed him to leave. He was lucky; he looks more like his father than you."

Here, I couldn't tell whether he transported himself or whether he simply moved _very_ quickly, but he somehow managed to get behind me and pull both my arms behind my back.  
"As I know so much already, why don't you be a good girl and _tell me your son's name_?"

I uselessly tried pulling my wrists free. "When you know all _that_, what good does a name do?"

He gave me one quiet chuckle. "I half hoped you would be uncooperative." He released my wrists and placed his fingers to my forehead and temples.

It had been years since I felt this attack, but I remembered it well. At the invasion I felt, I put up walls and barriers to avoid allowing him in. The walls crumbled, and the barriers vanished, leaving me in a strange, foggy place. I looked to spot Ganondorf, but he somehow hid himself from me. When I looked behind me, there was a village—empty of people, though comprised of houses; within each house were my memories and thoughts—like mental libraries. My instinct took over before I could think; I built walls to keep my thoughts safe, I raised barriers to add to their strength, and I created guards to alert me if there was an attack.

At first, all was silent. The only movement was my thoughts. I even felt secure—but somehow, a smoky mist of darkness began weaving its way toward the village. The feeling was akin to what Twinrova did to me to brainwash me and—no matter his true intention—I would not allow this magic to run through my mind again. When I confronted it, however, I was unable to harm it—by physical means or magical. My attacks went through the smoky mist, but even though my attacks seemed not to harm it, it became aggravated. It wrapped around me, pulled me to the ground and held me there. I could not move, I could not attack, and I could not will magic to my hands. The smoke began entering my lungs, suffocating me. I had to act, and fast. I lay there, unable to think, unable to retaliate. I felt the smoky fingers touch the treasures housed into the buildings. I heard the thoughts, yelling as if for help, and my mind begged for me to retaliate. I couldn't believe what I was dealing with; last time the dark fingers invaded my mind, I was able to fight it, _and_ I was conscious of my physical surroundings; last time my mind was invaded, he was _not _this strong or influential. How did nearly ten years in a world of technology improve his magic?

I could tell he was getting close to the name, and I couldn't let him find it. Despite the fact that Ganondorf knew enough about Samson to capture him if he truly intended to, I couldn't be so weak as to let him take whatever information he pleased. He could physically beat me all he wanted, but I _had _to stop him from playing with my mind any longer.

And that gave me a thought!

Both Ganondorf and I were mentally struggling—and he had me under his thumb. I could feel that I was not moving physically, and neither was Ganondorf. If I could move my arms, he was a sitting duck, so to speak. I was only glad that he was so focused on finding Samson's name that he never heard what I was thinking. I'm sure he would have stopped me if he did.

It was a hard thing to let go of my thoughts, but when I finally did, I could more easily reach to my arms. Slowly, I regained control—fingers first, then a loose swing of the arm at the shoulder, then elbow, then, finally, some ability to contract muscles. I raised my arms as quickly as I could and pushed his fingers away. I could feel his surprise and the shadow was forced away. I fell forward and my eyes opened in time for me to catch myself. I felt exhausted, like I could pass out happily at any moment. There was some faint movement behind me, so I turned to look. Ganondorf had stumbled backwards and fallen into a nearby chair. Even he seemed ridiculously bewildered and tired. However, he was far stronger than I. After a moment of re-retrieving his bearings, he stood up only slightly unsteadily and slowly progressed toward me again. I could hardly keep myself upright, let alone stand and move. Whatever he planned, I severely feared it.

He bent down and pulled me up (almost helpfully) and looked me in the eye. "The magic you wield is strange, and the logic you use only amplifies its power. What you know—and your potential abilities—_that_ is why I am so interested in you. Of all I have met, _you_ are the Girl to Start a War."

* * *

**A.N.: Here it is, and, though no one guessed correctly on the destination before now, everyone has one more try to guess the penultimate destination (the second to last one.) I'll give you a hint, it's on this world. This one is really tough, but makes sense now that we know their last destination. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy!**


	21. Conor

Chapter IX

Conor

We left for dinner that night—for it truly was night—and I was shown to my room (which turned out to be that empty room next to the Library.) We were silent during our meal; we were both exhausted, and the Gerudo onboard noticed their King's fatigue with some slight distress. They often offered assistance or asked him if he needed anything to which he would smile and calmly wave them away. Despite what had happened, he was relatively calm. In opposition, I was shaking uncontrollably all night. As I lie in bed, trying desperately not to focus on the sway of the waves, I thought to myself about what he said. _I_ am the "Girl to Start a War?" _I_ can defy Ganondorf, the King of Evil? How? And Why? I'm pretty weak all things considered, and I had far less instruction and time to learn magic than he. Something or someone must be helping me….

I shook the thought away. If anyone but Ganondorf was helping me, what good would it do to think about it excessively? Fully realizing the sleeplessness of the night ahead of me, I sat up, lit the oil lantern on the desk next to me, and pulled the green covered book into my lap to read.

* * *

As the sun touched the water and I finally began to dose off, the door of my tiny cabin resonated with a nervous knock. I sat up quickly, knocking The Book of Mudora to the floor. The sound of the book hitting the floor snapped me into a groggy, annoyed mood. "Who's there?" I called.

The door opened a crack and a tiny head poked through. When he saw me, his eyes knit together and looked me up and down warily. "Brekkist i' ready. I-I wus tolde t'e be yer eskert."

I groaned and pushed my feet off the bed, realizing the full day ahead of me. I was exhausted already: _why_ I couldn't sleep that night was beyond me. I placed my head in my hands. "And who are you?" I asked as politely as I could.

"M-me, ma'am?" When I nodded, he rocked on his heels and looked down. "M' name's Conor." He suddenly became less shy and his eyes shone like Samson's. "Grimpae Tom's me grindfaither! I hear 'e mae ye! 'e's cap'n o' the ship!" He trailed off for a moment before going on. "He sae 'e likes ye—yer no' as scarie as _'e_ sae…."

I looked up at him, "'_He_?' Who's '_He_?'"

"Lord Ganondorf, o' caurse."

A silence swept over us until my unborn child decided to stretch as if from a nice ling nap I knew I wouldn't get that day. The movement surprised me and I jumped ever so slightly, placing my hand on my tummy.

"Is… is tha' a baeb?" Conor asked, slowly approaching me.

I smiled and nodded. "He or she will be born in a month or two."

He tilted his head. "'He _er_ she?' Ye diena ken?"

I giggled. I had just noticed his Irish/Scottish accent. It was cute in the tiny blond boy. "No. There's no need until he or she's born." I told him. My baby kicked again, and this time Conor saw it.

"Wha' wis tha'?"

I laughed again. "My baby kicked; she's rather restless this morning." I looked from my child to tiny Conor with a friendly and curious eye. "Would you like to feel it?"

He looked at me carefully and cautiously. "Hoo…?"

My smile was replaced by a grim look of sadness. It seemed like he was afraid I would cast a spell on him. I shoved the thought aside. "Easy: you just put your hand on my tummy—like this," and I did it for him to see.

He cautiously approached, carefully extending his hand. At a moment of hesitation, I calmly told him that he didn't have to feel if he didn't want to, which he responded to with a firmer resolve to try. He lightly placed his hand on my stomach, and my baby gave him one nice kick. He jumped back with a shout and stared nervously between the slight bump in my stomach to me.

When he said nothing, I asked him, "Neat, huh?"

The glimmer in his eye shone bright and he nodded ecstatically. He came forward again, faster this time, and put both hands on my stomach. For a little while, he continued to jump in surprise, but soon got quite used to it. Every time my child kicked, he giggled like crazy—which was immensely contagious. Finally, after a few minutes of this, he collapsed to the ground in laughter. He looked at me and said, "A like ye—nae ma'er wat Lord Ganondorf sae."

My laughter came to an abrupt halt and I looked away. Did that foul monster truly tell the people that I was dangerous and evil? Wasn't controlling me enough?

"Ar ye…" Conor began quietly, "ar ye ive?"

I swiftly turned my head to him. I didn't know what to say. I certainly didn't think so, but what evil would consider itself evil? I gulped, but asked, "Did he tell you that?"

He nodded.

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of how to respond. Finally, I told him, "Perhaps I am evil, and perhaps I am not. I… I suppose it depends on who you ask."

"Im aksen ye," he pushed.

I looked at him carefully. He was smart and intent on getting answers. It reminded me of two young people I know: me when I was Conor's age, and….

I smiled. "You remind me of my son, Sa—" I cut myself off. He was just a child, but if he knew the name, he might tell Ganondorf. Before Conor could ask, I went on. "And on the subject of evil, I trust your judgment. You're a child, and as such you see things for how they are. The judgment of a child is the most pure and clear." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you think I'm evil?"

I expected a pause for thought, but he immediately came forward and said, "Nae! Yer the nicis' laedy A hiv mit since… since me mum." Before I could remark about that statement, he went on, suddenly loud and angry. "He tuk 'er iwae! He's the mien un! Lord Ganondorf—" he went on but I didn't catch it. I jumped forward and placed my hand over his mouth. He looked very frightened and confused as I glanced out the door for anyone going by or listening.

"Conor, don't say such things. You'll end up like…" I silently suppressed a wince before continuing, "like me." The look in his eye went from angry to curious.

"What dae ye mien?

I inhaled carefully. "I am his prisoner. Do you know why?"

" 'ecus ye wan tae kell him?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at that remark. "Well, there's that…. Really, it's because I'm a rebel. I don't like the way he rules or his morals behind it."

"Thin why diena he kell ye?"

The fact that Conor knew that it sometimes came down to that hurt me. He has seen too much evil and hate to be such a well-natured boy. He surprised me in many ways. "Because I'm potentially useful. I know things he could use for his own good, I can be taught magic…"

Suddenly, Ganondorf's voice echoed through my head like an old memory, but his words were unfamiliar to me. As if in fear—and perhaps only as a thought—it said, "She can defy me."

Whether it was his thought somehow penetrating my own mind or my imagination running a bit out of control, it didn't matter. The thought spread a smile across my face. "He wants me because I am the 'Girl to start a War;' I can defy him…."

"But he kin control ye—lik he did tae iverieun ils!" Conor warned.

I shook my head. "Not by himself. He needed two other powerful witches." I opened my mouth to speak, but the next thing I would say would not be smart to claim aloud. I kept it to myself. Looking down at Conor, I smiled kindly. "Will you bring me to breakfast. I think I'm awake now."

A frown briefly crossed his face before nodding and leading me out of my room. As we walked the hallway, I asked him, "Will you and your grampy be joining us?"

He shook his head. "Unlie Gerudae an guists o' Lor Ganondorf ar alood tae dien there. A eat en the bridge wit Grimpae Tom. Ithers eat en their kibens."

I stopped short, but Conor didn't notice for a moment. When he turned and noticed me far behind, he asked me, "What's wrong?"

"Well, if only Gerudo are aloud to dine in the dining room, I shouldn't go there," I told him.

"Guists ar alood, tae." He came forward and took my hand. I would not move, however.

"He took me from my family—twice—invaded my mind—twice—and brainwashed me. I am no guest, Conor; I'm a prisoner."

He bit his lip and tugged at my arm pleadingly. "Please, ma'am; Lord Ganondorf will be unappie gif ye diena gae."

I ground my teeth together. What I wanted to say was, "Well, he can get over it. I'm bigger than you and there's no way you could force me to go," when in fact he could. He was a tiny child, and I wouldn't put it past Ganondorf to harm Conor to get what he wanted. I sighed and finally relented. "Alright, I'm coming."

His worried face turned to one of relief. He led me away down the corridor.

* * *

Behind the large, brown, double-doors, Conor and I could plainly hear laughing anc chatting. No specific words could be understood, and the sound was oddly disheartening and worrisome. Conor looked up at me. "A… A will tell Lord Ganondorf ye'r here," he said, placing his hand on the doorknob.

I could sense his fear—it was running ramped within my own heart. I placed my hand on his to stop him. He looked up at me. "There's no need," I told him; "I am only a prisoner." I returned my gaze to the door. "Go and have breakfast. Thank you for coming with me this far. I truly appreciate the company. Maybe you can come back some time and I'll tell you a story."

He grinned up at me and gave me—and my baby—a tight squeeze. "Thank ye, ma'am!" And with that, he ran silently down the hall.

My smile faded and I gulped. It wasn't entirely true that the words behind the door were impossible to understand: they were all Gerudo. The extent of my knowledge was so low, however, that I could not pick up the tiniest of words or phrases. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open just enough to sneak through.

I'm not sure it's necessary—or even possible—to tell the way the Gerudo reacted to my entering. Some had gone silent, some hand begun whispering—presumably of me—and still others were watching me with great amusement. Ganondorf was among the last group. I glanced around for an empty chair: of course, the last available seat was surrounded by the only two Gerudo on the trip that I knew: Sorunè and Ganondorf. I hurried to the sat and sat without a word or a glance to anyone's face. Conversation slowly began again.

"Fík aš va kaš, Samantha?"

I looked up from my lap, knowing full well who had spoken. The King of bot Gerudo and Earth was looking at me, a hot mug of coffee in hand.

I raised my eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

He acted surprised. "Bi dast müs ųk pas ųmékš intramųmoe ízbéki piki Hyrulian Rand žų Mudora, dast bi?" He grinned at me.

I rached forward and casually took a water pitcher and poured myself a glass. "You do realize I would have responded _in_ Gerudo if I understood it," I told him dryly."

He faced forward and raised the coffee to his lips. "What a shame. I would think you, of all people would not waste a sleepless night…."

I looked over at him. "And… what makes you think I didn't sleep last night?" I asked, carefully wording my question.

"There are a couple obvious reasons," he began, placing his coffee onto the table. "For one, you have bags under your eyes; for another, your eyes are bloodshot; for, yet, another, you didn't carry yourself to the table as defiantly as you normally would—must I go on?"

"Why not? It's not like either of us have anything better to do." I took my flass of water and, sipping from it, intended to ignore him.

"You opened the Book of Mudora," he stated confidently. As the silence followed, I couldn't help but look up. Without waiting for a question, he continued: "So you wasted a good night at sea to read a silly book written for Hyrulian priests and 'magicians' when you could have learned something more pressing."

I refrained from asking him how he knew I opened the Book, but the question nagged me. Instead, I contented myself by saying, "If I'm going to live in Hyrule, I might as well give myself some slight understanding of the nation—"

"Ah-ah-ah, my dear. You will not be living in Hyrule. Your prison lies within the Gerudo Valley and, after both you and your baby are well enough for the trip, eventually the Desert Colossus."

I gulped a dry, uncomfortably gulp. It was just one thing after another; if he ever took me that far into the desert with my child, there would be no way for me to survive and escape—and I certainly wouldn't try it with my baby. It seemed strange: Ganondorf was doing everything in his power to keep me under his control. Despite his words from the night before, I still wondered why he didn't make his life easier and kill me.

"So…" he began again after a silent moment, "Fík aš va kaš?"

I clenched my teeth and eyelids together in annoyance. I turned and looked at him. What I wanted to say, I never would have gotten away with. Briefly, I wondered if he knew Spanish so I could safely spit something inconceivable at him, but I figured it wasn't worth the risk. Finally I settled on answering with, "Yes," not quite sure what I was answering or if it even made sense. "Now I have a question for you: _must_ I dine here with you or _any_ of them," I gestured to the mass of Gerudo in the room, "or might I dine elsewhere?"

His expression was confused for a while—obviously in reaction to the answer of his question. Finally, the look melted away and he smirked to himself, barely withholding laughter. Apparently my answer had been somewhat funny to him, but I was in no mood to see him amused. He opened his mouth to speak, but I was in no mood to see him amused. He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him.

"Choose you next words wisely."

After another quiet moment, he could not suppress a chuckle. "You would rather dine with the swine of the ship than someone you know? What a strange girl."

"I meant the little boy, Conor. And the bulk of the "_swine_" of this ship share my ancestry." I raised my eyebrow at him and sarcastically asked, "You would rather have this "_swine_" dine with _you_ than with its own kind?"

He ignored most of my retort; "Conor? Old Tom's boy?"

He let out a single, harsh, yet genuine laugh. "You would corrupt the poor thing. I sent him to retrieve you because the minds of children are malleable: if you altered the way he should think, I can easily reverse it."

I stared at him in disbelief. How dare he speak of me like I'm a monster? The man that "took his mother away"—seemed to take many mothers away from their children—accuses me of tainting or killing everything she touches?

I looked away momentarily, regaining my bearings. "Do you know that I hate hypocrites? I mean I _hate lots_ of things in the world—global warming, governments, and the year 2012 to name a few—but I _despise_ hypocrites." He began to laugh at the remark, but I interrupted him: "But there's on thing I hate more than hypocrites," I raised my hand and pointed, "and that's you." I stood up straight, took my glass of water in and gulped the rest down as sloppilessly as I could in my furious anger. I slammed it on the table and began walking toward the door. The whole room was silent—every Gerudo had silenced at our argument. Unable to leave the room without one more outburst, I turned and bade them my farewell:

"So long, and thanks for all the fish," I opened the door, "too bad it had to come to this!"

And with that, I slammed the door shut behind me and left for my room and, despite the cruelty just shown to me, I couldn't help but giggle to myself all the way to my cabin.

* * *

**A.N.: So, two things I want to say here. Number one is I am COMPLETELY unqualified for writing Scottish accents, and I am going to hate all the chapters I write with it. The first few lines Conor speaks were translated by my boyfriend, and then everything after that was translated with the help of a wikipedia: .org/wiki/Wikipedia:RRSSC_Common_wordleet_%28English_ti_Scots%29 it didn't give me EVERYTHING I needed, but it helped me fake a bit of the rest of it. Thank you RRSSC :D**

**The other thing I wanted to mention is that the language I used for Ganondorf's speech is all based off of this website: . The original version I wrote myself, and was basically gibberish; the one issue (that most of you won't notice) is finding a gerund Gerudo equivalent or certain verb tenses. **

**Besides all that good stuff, there's a cookie in it for the first person who can guess what the quote at the end is from. Come on, guys, this is classic literature! :D Anyway, please enjoy, and if you have any critiques or comments on the Scottish, PLEASE leave me a message. I'm going to need a LOT of future help! Thanks!  
**


	22. Captain Thomas

Chapter XXII

Captain Thomas

Oftentimes, I remained within my cabin, silently reading and learning Gerudo and Hylian, language and history. Unfortunately, most of the interruptions were of Ganondorf demandingly inviting me to the library. Of course, whenever I was there, I couldn't leave until he saw fit. I wasn't sure why, but he seemed to like my presence in the library while he visited—in fact, I don't remember a moment he entered the library without me.

However, he never required my presence for meals. I was allowed to visit the other members of the crew and eat with Conor. We made fast friends, despite Ganondorf's threat on altering the boy's mind. Possibly more than me, he _loved_ my little baby. His grandfather—Thomas—often seemed silent, answering to Conor (and me only when he absolutely needed.) He never seemed disapproving of my presence, but very cautious. Despite this, he willingly allowed me to spend time with Conor.

One afternoon, I snuck away from my cabin and made my way into Old Tom's bridge, where he was—oddly—alone. I had no idea where the rest of his crew was, but I had found Conor asleep in his bed, obviously exhausted from a hard day's worth of work. I knocked on the door and when I got an old, gruff response, I opened it a crack with a questioning "Hello."

He turned quick, surprised to see me in his bridge without Conor around, but he returned his gaze away from me just as quickly. "A'ready said, 'Come in,' dinae?"

I did so and shut the door behind me. The bridge was a small room where the wheel was. There were a few barrels and crates in the tiny, though comfortable, room, and besides these there were few places to sit and no chairs in the room at all. On the far end of the room was a wall-sized window, allowing the captain to see the ocean ahead. It was a relatively clear day with calm water and a good wind, or so the crew members said. Normally, there would be men fiddling with some controls at the head of the room, making sure everything was "ship-shape," but it seemed to be a relatively lazy day for all. Captain Thomas stood at the wheel, lazily steering it straight. I sat on a crate and watched the few wisps of clouds sail overhead.

"Conor is nae here," Tom suddenly said.

I glanced at him. "I know."

He glanced at me. "Then why'r ye _here_?" His tone was harsh and slightly more demanding than I had expected.

I was at a loss for words for quite some moments. Finally, though, I told him, "Because I want to speak with _you_."

"Oh? An' wut aboot? I am a fairy busy man!"

I chuckled involuntarily. "You certainly seem it."

He turned from the wheel and stared me down. I shut up quick. "What dae ye want tae sae?" he asked slowly.

I gulped, but pushed myself to answer. "On a normal occasion, you don't speak to me at all. Why is that?"

He crossed his arms and leaned on the wheel. "I dinea nuh ye."

"Does it have to stay that way?"

He let his eyelids fall. After a silence broken only by a sigh, he said, "Ye will nae stae here. A'll nuh ye fer less taem than A nuh Conor's mother, an that was nae inuff taem tae nuh such a wonderful dame."

I frowned at this. It was such a sad statement, yet also quite an interesting one; was he grouping me with Conor's mother?

"A will nae stop Conor from gitten close tae ye—'e needs a mother rayt noo—but…." He stopped himself and turned back to the wheel.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence that followed. Tom's face had grown red and his eyes were dark with a kind of sadness I could not decipher. He did not cry, and he did not tremble, but I could tell his emotions were frantically trying to burst free from his well-fortified façade. "Was she your daughter…?" It was my attempt to calm the tense mood.

"Conor's mother? Nae, but she was an improvement frae th' ninny 'er husband was." He told me kindly, but that nicety wore away quickly. "What's it tae ye?"

I shrugged. "You seem fond of her—and am I to assume Conor's father has some relation to you instead?"

He grumbled without a moment's hesitation. Somewhere in the midst of his low, guttural groaning, I heard a barely noticeable "A hae nae son."

'Bad topic,' I noted. I wouldn't press him for answers, but I still had to wonder what Conor's father had done to anger him so much. Instead, I quietly asked, "So, you are all that's left of Conor's family?"

He let his shoulders fall. "Reasonably, Aye."

I looked down. "I am terribly sorry…. I had to wonder why Conor was on this ship." After a moment's silence, I continued; "If you don't mind me asking, what happened to Conor's mother?"

He glared daggers at me. "Nae, A take _pleasure_ 'n talkin' abit t'es subject," he told me sarcastically. I looked away, feeling quite stupid. He turned back to the front large wheel. "Only abit a year ago, Laird Ganondorf took 'er away—withit rhyme 'r reason. When A asked of her—her whereaboots, 'er safety, e'en th'reason fur 'er captivity—he ne'er gi'es a straight answer. Mah guess is she nuh tay much tae gettae awa' wi—much lik ye, mah dear. It may jist be personal opinion 'r wishful thinkin', but Ah think he's afraid o' folk lik ye…."

"So, you don't know whether she's alive or not?" I began timidly.

"Nae, she's alife… Ah am just nae sure by hoo much… 'r where…."

I hopped off the barrel and approached Old Tom. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he looked at me with sorrow. "Captain Thomas, I have no chance at getting out of this. If he took her to the Gerudo Fortress—which is possible under these circumstances—I promise to look out for her—take care of her if I can."

He looked away. "He'd ne'er lit ye gie close tae 'er. 'At could be riskeh tae heem."

I turned him toward me again. "And he'd never let me get away that number of times we did years ago. I was terribly unlucky this time—or he happened to be really lucky—or a mixture of the two! I broke free from his brainwashing, and I disappeared from view for five years." I let this set in a bit before continuing. "He has been walking a very fine line since he came here; he has done many a dangerous thing—if I remember correctly, he actively taught me how to use magic and swords…. But I know he's not a fool. I don't know his intentions, but they're always nasty—and relatively well-planned. I also know that, if I find her, I'd protect her—if only for poor Conor."

His eyes lit up a touch so that they were filled with gratefulness. Sadness was well hidden within. "Aye, but A could ne'er repay ye!"

I waved it off. "Just take care of Conor—oh, and keep him from speaking out too much," I warned. I couldn't begin to guess what Ganondorf would do to Conor if he had heard his short outburst about his mother.

"Tha's a force o' 'abit. Naet a way tae repay an'un." He stood, silent and pensive for a moment before looking out the windows and checking the door—all of which were shut and empty—then looked me in they eyes. "A got it: D'ye see tha' map on the wall?" He pointed at a map of the Atlantic Ocean, Mediterranean Sea, Europe, and Africa. I nodded. "Tha' red line thaur is uir coorse. Noo, we're aboot three miles sooth ay th' English Coast. Uir first stop is La Rochelle, France, estimated arrifal: morn efter tomorrow's, early oan. If ye hae onie folk, use thes chance tae send a letter. Ah apologize, but ye willnae hae a chance tae receife."

I could only stare at him. I had never found more important information in my life! I could tell them where he was taking me! I could tell them where I was and where they could find me! I could tell them how much I missed them, or loved them, or that I was alright! Oh, the possibilities! "My god, Captain Thomas, thank you! If I can, I will get that woman _out_ of there!-" It suddenly hit me that I needed to know at least one crucial detail; "What's her name?"

"Fanella." When he said this name, his voice took on a strange accent for a Scot.

"She's not Scottish, is she?"

"Aye, she is! Her parents were Scot, an' born in Scotland… but they moved somewhere else an' had Fanella. She returned here tae visit familae an' ne'er went back," he told me. He had suddenly become quite amiable.

"Where was this 'somewhere else?'" I asked, sitting myself on the floor.

"A dinnae. She ne'er told us, an' she ne'er made i' seem important." He rubbed his furry chin thoughtfully. "Ooddly, though, she ha' the Scot accent doon tae en art…."

I thought to myself quietly. "And she knows what I know?"

He looked at me quick. "Nae;" his harsh demeanor had returned, "she nuh some. Ye're a well noon scholar; she was a curious studen'…." the softness returned. "But aye, A suppose she _did_ nuh tae much."

What I wanted to say was, "If _I _don't know too much, Fanella certainly doesn't," but I have to admit that life _would _be three times easier if none of this had ever happened. Instead, I asked, "What about you and Conor? Do you two know much?"

"Conor? Nae, his mother was smarter than tae tell sich things. He only nuhs what most others do." He paused here for a moment. "Ah, on the other hand, prob'ly started it all; Ah exposed 'er husband tae it."

We were both still and pensive. It took me a moment to develop the feeling into a tangible thought I could voice, but when I did, I said it subconsciously; "I don't think you're what did it."

He looked curiously at me and I continued on:

"When Ganondorf first met me, it was Koume and Kotake who seemed curious in me-and it was their fear and a tiny bit of proof that lead him to keep an eye on me. Upon further inspection, I was a strange character that knew too much about his land to be safe alone. It was specifically evident that two certain words- 'Gerudo' and 'Hylian'-were ingrained into my mind." I looked up at Thomas. "Such knowledge could not be new or weak; it _had_ to be _part_ of you; I would not be me if I had not played this… this _ridiculous_ game!"

"She ha' ne'er played 'r e'en und a veedyah game in 'er life," he told me firmly.

I stood up. "Ah, now that makes it so much more interesting…. Did you know her parents?"

"Nae well. 'Er father an' Ah nuh ich uthor as children. Why?"

"I-"

I never finished that thought aloud; the door to the bridge burst open. Both Thomas and I stared at the Gerudo intruder. "Samantha," she began, "your presence is demanded in the library." This was no Gerudo I knew, nor one I would get to know.

I huffed a laugh. "Demanded? You'd think I did something wrong!" I looked at Tom, who slyly looked at the Gerudo.

"This way, and be swift! You are late!" She stated, ignoring my comment.

I began to follow her out, but stopped to say, "Thanks Captain! I appreciated the talk!" And I was silently dragged from the bridge by an impatient Gerudo.

* * *

**A.N.: Another excellent chapter, and thank you to my good, dear friend for the scottish translations; they probably turned out much more accurately in this chapter than in the last. Sorry, no quote for anyone to pick out in this chapter, but I've got a good, toughy to find in the next chapter, which is mostly all written out. **

**Now, you all know how we authors appreciate attention; now would be the perfect time for a little something: just click the button at the bottom of the screen while I try to answer some questions from one of my readers:**

**Kyle: a big reason I chose NH is because of my familiarity with it (as that is my home) and the forests that surround the area (which becomes important in a few chapters). The snow issue is an interesting one; amount of snowfall tends not to be a factor as much as how slippery the roads are; in one instance, we may have a foot or two of snow and still have school, and in another case it may only be an inch and the buses simply cannot stay on the road; it also depends on how ready for the snow we are. If even a little snow comes in October, It will probably be a snowday. A foot in December or January is expected, and less likely to become a snowday. Intriguingly, though, the past few years have been less snowy than the more distant. I remember a time when it was snowey all the time, and there was never a moment between December and mid March that there wasn't snow on the ground. This year, I think we had snow on the ground for about a month total (give or take.) Ignoring all that fun stuff, as an average, it might take half a foot to figuratively derail the buses and call school off. Colleges in the area might require a little more than that. Coming to Towns and Cities, I have never seen them close; I have seen streets close, but only due to flooding or the like, never snow. The exact location of this story (at least that part) is a little closer to the Massachusetts and Vermont Borderline. .org/nh/nh_ if you look at this link, Find Winchester in the bottom left corner; Winchester is commonly mistaken for Richmond and visa versa because our zip codes are the same: Richmond is the town exactly to the right of Winchester. One town north is Swanzey, where a couple of the other characters were found. Unfortunately, I'm not too bright on weather, so I'm kind of hoping the location will give you a good idea as to the weather. On the topic of weather, fun fact: On March 19, 2012, the temperature supposedly reached heights of 80 degrees Fahrenheit! I'm a touch worried about our weather, honestly. It has been changing drastically over the past few years. And thank you for the recommendation: I'll have to watch it!**

**The POV shift needs to be taken care of. It became an issue when I put it up online, and I just haven't gotten around to fixing it. I apologize, and as soon as college term ends, I'm all over it. Samantha drove the truck in reverse: the Mr. and Mrs. were brutally killed through the windshield. I left out a lot of detail there because I wanted the reader to imagine what was going on rather than detail everything (like I have this nasty habit of doing anyway.) The -47 degree weather thing came off the internet. I've never experienced a winter that cold (though I might have sworn that it was), but the temperature supposedly dropped that low sometime in the 1900's. I very well could be wrong, though.**

**Species Unknown: Pirates of the Carribean?**

**Again, Questions, Comments, Guesses to the primary destination (the place they will go in order to get to Gerudo Valley), etc... definitely leave them for me to see! :)**


	23. An Important Record

Chapter XXIII

An Important Record

The Gerudo woman roughly threw me to the ground in front of Ganondorf where I quickly stood up and stared angrily at her. I _was _pregnant, I hope she realized. No one made a verbal note of this and the president took me by the arm, thanking the unknown Gerudo and pulling me into the library. He shoved me forward and shut he door behind him, enchanting the lock. When he turned and looked down at me, arms crossed, he angrily stated, "You are late."

I mock-bowed awkwardly with my large stomach. "A thousand apologies, o _patient _one."

He growled and pushed past me, directing himself to a long pre-determined location. I stared after him, dumbfounded. When I got my bearings—and casual thoughts—back, I called after him; "What do you want me to do here without those books you gave me?"

He did not bother to peer around the shelf to find me. "They are not _yours_, I did _not_ _give_ them to you, I let you _borrow_ them! And I really don't _care_ what you do! Just stay out of my sight!" His violent voice vibrated across the voluminous library, inducing a shiver to engulf my spine. If I had been more foolish, I might have asked him why he brought me to the library at all, but that was out of the question. Quickly, I scurried off in the other direction and away from him. He seemed dangerous, and not in the normal sense, either. I had no intention of browsing books or researching information; I looked for a place to sit down—anywhere but the table in the center of the room—and I came across one of the bay windows in the library. Gold-embroidered red curtains hung down, pulled apart by a gold hook. The sitting place had red and purple pillows for comfort and a thin, white blanket left untidily, as if someone had forgotten it. I sat down and threw my head into my hands. I was exhausted and needed to think; how was I going to use the stop in France to my advantage? A letter to family would be preferred, but Ganondorf would never let me anywhere near a post-office if he could help it—and beyond that, if I made it inside, the employees would be reluctant at best to help me.

I looked up and stared at the varied vertical bars of color that were books on a bookshelf.

Although, before I could begin to think about how I got the letter to my friends, I'd need to figure out what I was going to say in the letter. "They're taking me to Gerudo Valley. All is well, I've met some new friends! Hopefully I'll meet you there?" They needed to know where I was going, but they also needed to know how to get there. "Gerudo Valley" wasn't going to cut it. Of course, they also needed to know of my—and my baby's—safety, especially Dag and Jake. Stress has not—at least yet—resulted in early birth, and this dangerous warlord, whose captive I was, had not harmed me or the baby, no matter his threat.

Then, my vision had focused on an oddly placed book shoved behind all of the other books. It was black and relatively simple, but it grabbed my attention, even beyond the important subject of contact with those dear to me. I stood involuntarily and made my way to the bookshelf. I pulled books gently from their place and put them softly on the ground. When the forgotten book was entirely visible, I removed it and put the other books back in place. I listened carefully for a moment, listening for any movement in my direction, but I heard none. I took that book, and a red-bound one nearby, and went back to the bench on the window. Taking one last look around, I pulled the heavy curtains off their golden hooks and let them drape closed around me. It was only then that I was able to take a good look at the mysterious book in my hand. Under the warm light of the oddly-placed sand dunes outside, the book lay dully in my hand—except for the sparkling words. It was in Gerudo, and I couldn't make it out. I stared at it for some time immeasurable to my uncaring eyes. Finally I shook my head and opened it to the middle. It was a thik tome—quite rivaling a Harry Potter book—but it was mostly empty. I furrowed my brows, flipping the pages lightly until I met a page with words on it. Out of simple curiosity, I saved that written page aside and flipped the pages in the opposite direction, exploring for any more words. There were none. I returned to the page with the words and studied what I could. It was, again, in Gerudo hand—not typed, but written. This made me curious: whose book—diary, record book, or whatever else it could be—did Ganondorf want, or for whatever reason _have_, in his library. I skimmed through pages, looking for something I could interpret. Then, something fell upon my lap. It was a piece of paper, folded into thirds, with old, tattered, water-stained—even burned—edges. The creases seemed to have been worn more than a normal letter, as if someone had folded and unfolded it often. I took it in my hands and unfolded it, surprised to see a letter written in a language I could understand; it was English! Before I could do anything else, I began reading it:

January 3rd, 2014

To Whom It May Concern,

It is my understanding you have found someone I've been missing for many months. Receive this letter as a symbol of my undying gratitude: I have been longing for her return. I beg that you return her to me immediately; in fact, I rather demand it. I swear to keep her from causing harm or creating danger to you or your rule, and I wish not to appear dangerous to you myself, despite my demand. You must understand, she is my first daughter—one of the only jewels left in my miserable excuse for a life. If I could request one thing from you, My Lord Ganondorf, it would be this and this alone. Please grant this one, poor-man's request.

With Sincerest Regards,

Christopher T. Jackson

The writer's signature was below his printed name, and my mouth hung open at the sight of the name and signature. I couldn't believe it…. I had not seen that name in nearly ten years! I rubbed my finger over the signature and held back a quavering whimper. The letter was so simple, but it was from him….

"Dad…." It was a croak of a word, quiet and truly to myself. I gulped and kept from crying over the ink of the letter or the book; Ganondorf would surely notice one day, especially based on how often the letter had been folded and unfolded. I hugged the paper to my chest and sunk down into the pillows. I remembered my father and the wonderful things we had done together while I was growing up; I remembered Christmas Tree Hunting every year, my sister and I fooling around and throwing snow at each other; I remembered watching my dad play video games—the one I truly remember beingThe Legend of Zelda; I remembered his chastising, his sadness, his anger, his love, and his pride for me; I remembered how he used to tuck me in at night; I remembered how he used to support me through everything I did or tried; I especially remembered how he always told me "I love you," no matter what note the day ended on.

I lie there for what must have been hours. I must have fallen asleep—for how long I do not know. I awoke to my name being called throughout the library. I looked around for the sound, quickly reminding myself of where I was and what I had been doing. Something told me that I could not be found with that book… but I needed it. It held a letter from my father, so who knows what else was hidden away there? With less than a thought, I snatched the book up and hid it within the folds of my dress. I wished desperately that I had brought a bag.

My name echoed through the library again.

I jumped out from behind the curtain and looked around anxiously and nervously. He was nowhere to be seen, but his voice continued to echo over and around the walls and bookshelves. I looked at where the book was in my hand. It wasn't obvious there was a book there, but I normally held my child with both hands. Desperately, I hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Samantha!"

The name dangerously hung in the air, clearly warning me of his rising anger in my continued absence. I looked around bookshelves and aisles and hurried toward the sound of Ganondorf's voice. Finally, after a couple more calls, his form became visible turning down a separate corner. "Wait," I called to him, "I'm here!"

His footsteps stopped and I continued on, suddenly very scared in the silence. I turned the corner cautiously, keeping both hands at my sides. He just stood there, eyes fixed on me. I could tell that this mood had lightened slightly, but not very much. It would do me very little good to allow him to see what I was up to, especially remembering what he had said to me when we first entered the library….

_They are _not_ yours, I did not _give_ them to you, I let you _borrow _them._

The thought of stealing one of his books was not comforting, especially knowing his anger, but something told me that he would not allow me to borrow this specific book. I stole a glimpse at his eyes, both of which equally burned with fury—well contained, I might say, but still prominent nonetheless.

"_This_," he began, "would be the perfect time for an explanation." His voice was a low growl, but it was impressively calm.

I looked over my shoulder, as if I needed remembering of where I came from. "I… I fell asleep."

He seemed to ignore the answer I gave him entirely. "Where were you?" He added slight emphasis on the "where."

I raised my free hand and pointed in the direction from which I came. "I was sitting in one of the bay windows over there."

He looked very briefly, and I could tell he knew exactly where. "The drapes are closed…." he muttered to himself. "And you have been there all this time? What a waste!" He looked down at me and, after a moment of scrutiny, he nodded toward the door and said, "Go," in the most jarring voice I had heard from him. I jumped and swiftly did as I was told, only pausing as he unlocked the door.

When I arrived to my room, having separated from Ganondorf just barely, I ran awkwardly to the desk with the lamp and the three books that had previously taken up my attention. I sat down and ripped open the black book and the Gerudo-English Dictionary. The first thing I set to do was translate the cover and the first few pages, which seemed like title pages, or something similar. In beginning with the cover, I translated the words to become stunned at my findings. I retranslated the words again and again until it became clear that I was not wrong; the golden lettering read:

"THE RECORD OF DRAGMIRE"

I stared at the cover of the book silently, unsure of what I should do with it. "The Record of Dragmire?" That sounds like a history of Ganondorf's family, doesn't it? I opened the book again, curious of what remained within. The ink blotted page reminded me that this was hand-written—incomplete and done imperfectly. I let my hand run across the page, deep in though, when I suddenly realized what I was looking at.

It was the Record of Dragmire—_Ganondorf_ Dragmire. It was… his journal.

I flung the book across the room without another thought. It hit the wall with a loud BANG and fell to the floor in a defeated heap. I felt that I could do nothing better than stare at the book as if it was going to get back up and attack me, but no such luck. However, after I got my bearings back, the golden characters reminded me of something important….

"Dragmire…."

I got up and rushed to the book, picking it up gingerly and scanning its surface for any blemish—pages included. His words dangerously echoed through my head….

"What gives you the right to defile a book?"

One of the corners of the book had torn and some of the pages had clearly been folded.

"Ancient Relics are fragile…."

I desperately tried bending the pages back, hoping sheer weight would reverse the damage.

"…I let you _borrow_ them…."

The book I _stole_ was damaged—Ganondorf's personal documentation, and within a few hours of holding the book, I had harmed it. I didn't want to believe it but I knew it was truth when I said, "There is no way I'm getting away with this…."

Thankfully, despite the noise, no one came to my room. I sat with the book in my hands for a very long time, thinking about all of my options. I could bring it back—surely it wouldn't be long before we returned… and he surely would not return to the library without me… but…. There was so much I could learn from the personal journal of the United States President—King of the Gerudo—Dictator of Planet Earth—Wielder of the Triforce of Power! He had future plans, and I needed to know them—what did he want from me? What plans did he have for my children, friends and family?... He did mention that we were on our way to Gerudo Valley…. so I would be in Hyrule. He _must_ have plans against Hyrule, and if I escaped with those plans, I could warn the Hylian King!

After much deliberation, I decided that I would keep the journal. I intended on making use of the record at hand to the best of its potential. I did not sleep that night, and neither did my child; it seemed we were both too interested in the mind in hand.

* * *

**A.N. So here's where I ask for help from my readers: I have some ideas in mind already, but I need to know what you as my audience wants to see in the Record of Dragmire. It begins with his arrival to Earth and ends a bit before "present" of the story. Lots of suggestions are welcome! Bring it on!**

**Anyway, thank you for viewing thus far, we've still got a ways to go, and please comment below! I would greatly appreciate it! Thanks! (Also, there's a quote in this chapter; any guesses?)  
**


	24. Record of Dragmire: The Girl of Earth

**A.N.: This chapter and the next are a bit of extra "filler" that will be referred to but are not necessary to be read. For those of you who will read it, bear with me as I will be trying to delve into the mind of an insane warlord who loves power (my opposite, though I may myself be a tad insane… :P ). Also, this is not a total compilation of the Record of Dragmire. That's a book in itself….**

Chapter XII

The Record of Dragmire: The Girl of Earth

It was a strange thing that started my rule. In searching through the old journals and tomes of Hyrule—Gerudian, Goron, Zoran, and Hylian alike—I discovered an old text describing hidden doors, scattered across Hyrule and hidden quite well, that led to "A World that Paralleled Ours." It was clear, at the time, what this meant; I have seen the words in another context: this was the Sacred Realm—a world that "Mirrored" ours, as I remember it. Such similar phrases! There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that these "doors" led to the Realm of the Three. These doors, though few in number, were scattered in nine locations; one in the Desert—my territory—one in the Hylian Castle, one in the Forest, one in Lake Hylia, one on Death Mountain, one in an almost foreign location called "Turtle Rock" (very little is known of this place), one is upon the Snowy Mountains to the north, one is hidden near Kakariko, hidden so that no one unless truly searching would find it, and the last was hidden along the River of the Zoras. It was never mentioned how these "doors" were opened, or even found.

But, I digress; many, many years have passed since I last stood within the fields of the Hylians; I met my fate at the annoyingly fortunate hands of Link and Zelda, and the Sacred _Prison_ is as welcoming as ever. Thankfully, a weak spot in the magic surrounding me made itself evident. I swiftly took action and escaped. It was strange that such a weakness existed so soon after my _demise_. I am unsure at the cause, and have yet found no reason to explore it.

Upon my return, I found myself in quite the foreign land—a forest. I could only guess it was the Kokiri Forest of the South, but I cannot be certain yet. I found myself exploring the area, looking for a way out and into familiar land—Hyrule Field would do nicely…. But I did not find my way there; instead, I happened across an opening where a strange, magical pulse suddenly became very clear. I was drawn to the center where a single, great boulder stood. Weak as I was, I had enough strength to shift it roughly away from its natural resting place. What I found there was surprising to say the least; the ground and grass had grown up around a large, stone tablet marked and carved with glowing, blue designs. It seemed strangely inviting in its own right and I approached it. I believe I knew what the stone was—I have searched for it for Goddesses know how many centuries in order to find an accessible door to the Sacred Realm.

The door did what was foretold; it brought me to "A World that Paralleled" Hyrule, but the world was not the Sacred Realm. It was like a dark world with too many people and so much hatred, but weakly unable to avoid what it has never before seen.

I came to know that the world was called "Earth," and the kingdom within which I stood was "The United States of America." The place I came to was also forested—discernible from Kokiri only by slight alterations in Plant and animal life. I didn't venture far before I learned of the United States' need for a new ruler. The one I spoke to—rather, took information from—seemed confused by magic. "It doesn't exist!" he had told me in terror. Besides his abundant fear, the man didn't seem out of his mind. It became very clear to me just how much power I held here—and what more if I ruled? This came as quite a favorable surprise to me. I set off to mark the place from which I came, depending on it as a return to Hyrule. I looked forward and began planning for the conquest of the new world, resting and waiting until I could summon what and who I would need….

It was strange to look upon the rows of women and not see a single one of Gerudo ancestry. All were dull haired and pale-skinned, weak, scrawny or corpulent and all so quick to give in to the magic of Twinrova… except one. She looked just like the rest of them—perhaps plainer; she fell to the slumber her comrades did much slower than the rest—and even in her unconsciousness, she was fitful and fighting both spell and beast violently. Finally, she fell to the spell, which should have lasted many hours after such struggle…. Nevertheless, I was summoned upon notice of her awakening only an hour after her failed fight. Her head hung strangely low and in order to look at her I forced her head up. "Welcome to the world of the _living_," if her world could possibly be alive. "You are the first to return." My tone clearly proposed my question, "How have you fought my magic so easily?" but she did not notice.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

I have heard this phrase too many times to count. It was a little annoying to me that none from this world knew who I was—I haven't been asked who I was since before I was King. I would introduce myself later, so at the time. I did not tell her. When the Witches of the West came about they cautioned me against this girl—declaring that she had powers that could prove dangerous to me. I made a resolve to test this; power? What _power_ could this child possibly have over me? I attempted to search her mind for any such hints, but it was a strange place. She easily over took me, and pushed me away before I got the chance to glimpse a thought. I'll admit, it angered me that she proved… stronger than I had expected, but, then, angered-surprise quickly became confusion. Not only did she succeed in fending off the sleeping magic of the Witches of the West, she also halted the magic of a master. More important than the question, "How _dare _she?" is "How_ can _she?"

Better yet, I soon learned of what she knew; I have met none else who know my race by name and she spoke the words so smoothly, as if they were an integral part of her. Her eyes told me of her deception; she knew of the words she spoke, and she knew much more than she let on. I quickly decided that it would be better to keep her away from the others in the case that she attempted to cause trouble. Instead, I found a different nuisance:

"You are a horrible, horrible man!"

The outburst did little more than agitate me. When I turned, I was met with a defiant gaze that I intended to be rid of.

"What power do _you_ have to hypnotize the whole world? I've never even heard of you before! People will rebel! There's no way this country will loyally follow you!"

The field grew tense through the deafening silence. Only her voice echoed uncontrolled through the field, though I saw belief in the eyes of the others. Her incessant babbling needed to stop. "That's enough, girl," I warned her, but she would not listen. I had to put a stop to any rebellion. Seeing as she would not listen to me, I silenced her in a far more effective way. Her eyes were suddenly full of fear, as if she hadn't expected me to hurt a fly until that moment.

How foolish.

"You demand me to tell you of my power and of my legitimacy. My dear girl, you _must_ be blind! Look around you. You are a fool to think me powerless to control you." Her eyes hardened, and I knew, no matter my words, she would not relent. I lifted my free hand, letting the power flow to it. "Or, perhaps you would rather a demonstration?" I did not let her answer. She shook her head violently and I knew she would be one of those who insulted a superior, then begged for mercy. No, that would not do. It was a simple decision, really, to raise my hand and allow her death. I took in the mortified responses of those gathered around me; I intended for them to learn from this experience.

"May it be known," I began, gathering their attention again, "that consequences _will_ come to those who oppose me. It really doesn't matter if you are a worthless commoner or a divine king, your punishment will not be light. I can see in your eyes the fear of death, but I have other methods that are far worse."

Soon afterward, Koume and Kotake returned to complete the brainwashing with a new warning; she knew not only the words "Gerudo" and "Hylian;" she also knew which of the witches was Koume and which was Kotake. It was about time to confront the girl: she had some explaining to do.

Based upon the calendar of Earth, the day is Saturday the 25th of August. Elections are quite a significant distance from here, and yet my victory already seems imminent. The people of this world are extremely easy to manipulate. Repeating the process of brainwashing between each town I visited, as soon as I entered New York City and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, much of the country had given in to me, ensuring victory before anyone in power could think twice. From here, it will be necessary to move west; to approach a throne prematurely would surely result in failure. I've been told by quite reliable sources that both "Texas" and "California" are heavily populated. And while I make this immense trek, I'll be sure to turn all state governments to my side as well.

Odd, though, I am still disturbed by that rebellious girl of New Hampshire State. She escaped alive and none have found a trace of her since the day she escaped the burning building. Fire is a strange thing with its own, furious, pulsing presence, much like the one a frightened person's might have. I felt her pulse, and it never died; it faded into the distance as she escaped the building, but her direction of escape was obscured.

I am unsure why I fuss over a pathetic little thing like her, but the Witches of the West seem to find this worry appropriate. They had said to be prepared for a war out of this weakling. As I sit in deep thought, I realize that she may not start a war against me, but instead help me win one. I vow to seek out this girl, wherever she disappeared off to, and take her with me to my place of residence once I am "President."

Mo. 12 Day 13Yr. 2012

The USA seems eager to see what I can do for them; I received a full tour of the Pentagon, a military base of secrets kept from all but a select few, and an unlimited exploration of the Pentagon's Library of Records. I watched men train, and I was given a special show; they fired some of the most powerful weapons I have ever seen—far beyond bows and arrows, swords, and armor, though perhaps not magic. They showed videos of "atomic bombs," which they say are quite old, nuclear missiles, and other obscure weapons. With these, I'm sure war with Hyrule would become a simple task, more enjoyable and less difficult than the wars I have waged before. It seems simple enough to train a warrior with such weapons as these; I wonder how difficult it would be to teach certain individuals in the way of magic. A warrior of both skills would be almost impenetrable to everything except the Witches of the West and me.

I wonder if that girl could be among the elite of my army? It would take some strong reasoning, but she may become an important asset. With the rest of the United States under my power, she should soon fall as well—and if it turns out to be as simple as I imagine, the rest of the Earth shall succumb to me; not only will I rule all of Earth, but I will also rule all of Hyrule as well—and why stop there?

Mo. 4 Day 27 Yr. 2013

Koume and Kotake have finally gained results on the locations of the other eight portals of Hyrule. Every portal leads from Hyrule to Earth (or visa versa) and are hidden extremely well. They've told me it was a miracle I found the portal once, let alone a second time with company.

Since the recently received knowledge, I have recorded the exact locations of portals in Hyrule and Earth, and which portals are connected. The list is as follows:

Gerudo Desert Wasteland, deep within the stone shelter Giza, Egypt, an unexplored chamber deep within the Sphinx; **accessible**

Hyrule Castle courtyard statue; magically opens once every 100 years unless traveler comes out from within Schwangau, Germany; basement of the Neuschwanstein Castle. Follow the West Wing Passage; **accessible**

Kokiri Forest, far Southeast on border with Termina Richmond, New Hampshire, hidden within a rock with sealed door. Opens to an area of "Power lines;" **accessible: now under constant surveillance**

Tiny Island with two pedestals in Lake Hylia. Quite distant from shore, surrounded by cliffs and difficult to reach An icy land under the South Pacific Ocean, nearby to Antarctica; **inaccessible**

Somewhere in the depths of Death Mountain, overgrown with rock and magma Overlooking Naples, Italy: Mount Vesuvius; **inaccessible: deep within rock**

Distant location of Turtle Rock: far east of Death Mountain Wiltshire, UK; a famous place called Stonehenge; **accessible**

Snowpeak Mountains, buried deep under snow another tall, freezing mountain: Mount Everest Peak; location: border between Nepal and Tibet, China; **accessible: NOT recommended….**

Kakariko Village, within the underground passages of the Village Sanctuary "Southern Hemisphere," in Australia's "Red Center." Located deep within the tunnels of a red cliff opening above; **accessible: well hidden**

Zora's River, located in Zora's domain at the source of the water Iceland, deep within a lukewarm geyser; **accessible, quite in sight from Hyrule**

Knowing these locations will come in handy as soon as war with Hyrule is upon us. True, Hyrule has always constructed a way to battle me—and whatever army I could pull together—in the past, but the country of Hyrule could never stand up to an entire world, especially not one of Earth's caliber. However, I will be patient; complete control must be assured here before I move on. I will be certain to have plenty of tricks up my sleeve….

Mo. 6 Day 13 Yr 2013

After a long, tiring search, I found the little, rebellious thing hiding deep within some woods nearby to her home. She seemed oddly comfortable there, and I find it safe to assume that she had made this home since our last interaction a year previous. She's quick, even barefoot and through treacherous woods, I'll give her that, but what surprised me most was the barrier from evil that she herself created. The girl has the will for magic, though not the experience or understanding. I noticed a faint, familiar scent in this magic; the Three Golden Goddesses had helped to protect her. However, their rule here was weak, if it at all exists. My words can penetrate the barrier, and she _will_ leave.

Besides her, I have also had the displeasure of meeting her close friends. The three of them (Nicholas, Chelsea, and Jacob, as I understand it,) had no manners to speak of, and seem to have no true worth to my cause. Their fates are sealed, and as soon as the girl is mine I have ordered the guarding beasts to dispose of them however they please. They are entirely surrounded and one false step will lead them to their demise.

Mo. 12 Day 11 Yr. 2013

I have grown quite tired of that girl. When I speak of it to Koume and Kotake, they suggest her death should follow. I disagree with them: they can't even begin to sway me. I don't know why, but I have this feeling that she will become more useful than the other rebellious citizens I have taken. So, I don't believe I will send her to Gerudo Valley, as I have all the others. I think I'll keep her close, in Washington DC. It will be a cinch to brainwash her there, while she's alone and locked up.

However difficult the task has been in the past, I have a clear vision as to how I will retrieve her. I have spoken to the girl's father and mother (the first of which seemed to know much more.) Both knew who I was and clearly expected the conversation of their daughter to be my primary reason for visiting. When seeking out her father, I noticed the ramshackle properties of the house and knew instantly that this family was hardly wealthy enough to support themselves, even with only two inhabitants. This would be simple….

As I approached the front door, I could hear heavy, unpleasant screaming mixed with some crashing and gunshots. I remembered the girl's aim and wondered if the character inside had her precision. I knocked heavily on their front door, at which point the gunshots stopped, then the screaming and crashing ended together. I saw the figure of a very thin girl look through a window to the right of the door and froze briefly when I saw her. When she snapped out of it, though, she cracked the window open. "What do you want?"

I looked at her calmly, which in itself, was more than I could say about her. "I believe the customary thing to do for a guest is to invite them inside," I corrected.

She stared at me intently with piercing blue eyes. "We didn't invite you, and the person you're looking for isn't here!" She tried to slam the window down, but I held it in place with a simple magic. It was then that I noticed her blonde hair, and my resolve slipped a touch. "Who do you _think _I'm looking for, Hylian?!"

At first, she was scared that she couldn't shut the window, then at my voice, then confused at the meaning. The word "Hylian" in my culture is a heavy insult, and was intended as such—though I didn't really expect that she knew what the word meant in the first place. She gave a mischievous smile. "Ah, yes; blonde hair, blue eyes: curse of the century. I can't go outside longer than five minutes without a burn." Her smile faded suddenly. "You know who else once called me that? my sister." She sighed. Her gaze fell to the floor for a moment, and then returned. "That's who you want isn't it? You want my sister to kneel down before you and praise you like a god… or a demon…."

"I'm not looking for her: I've found her; I'm looking for her father." I told her.

"You… you found—where?! Where is she?!" The little girl demanded without fear. I could see the longing in her eyes, and I took this as a chance to get in.

"If you allow me entry into your home, I may tell you." She looked hesitant and while she thought, I added, "I'll also allow you to shut the window to keep the warmth in… leave me outside and I'll lock every one of your windows open."

She stared at me incredulously, but after a moment, she opened the front door and let me step passed her. The house was somewhat messy, especially the room she had spoken to me from, which was cluttered with tools, saws, and larger devices I had never seen before.

"Make yourself at home…." the girl reluctantly stated before sitting on a rather heavily cushioned couch. She picked up a strange remote control in her right hand and a smaller device in her left. The two were black, connected by a black wire.

"I don't believe I caught your name…."

"Nope. You didn't." She pressed a button on the remote that changed what appeared on the television screen. Suddenly, the screen was filled with fire, destruction, dead, and redeads… or something similar. "But I didn't get _yours_ either." Every time she pressed a button, a gun would fire, and blood and guts would go everywhere. Oddly, though, she seemed comforted in playing this horror of a game.

"I believe everyone in this country knows who I am, Miss Jackson—"

"Shannon. The name's Shannon, and _never_ call me 'Miss' again." She was severely perturbed by my comment.

"Very well, Shannon," she gave a shudder as I said her name aloud. Apparently, her sister was a strong influence to her. "Christopher Jackson is who I am looking to speak with."

"He's out at the moment. He said he'd be home in an hour about two hours ago."

I studied her, but she sat unworriedly on the couch. "Does this happen often?"

"He always finds someone to talk to. I always give him a couple extra hours of leeway."

So I waited, examining what little of the house I could. There was a piano in a corner with music left all over the place, a computer in another corner, a roaring woodstove, books crammed into shelves, and a hallway that lead to, what I presumed were, the bedrooms and bathrooms. I looked back at her. "May I use your restroom?"

She looked at me skeptically. Clearly she didn't trust me, but I kept my expression unreadable, and she gave me that permission. Through a bit of trickery, I snuck into Shannon and her sister's bedroom. One half of the room was rather tidy and the other half was messy and dusty, which I assumed was where the information I intended to find lie in wait. I took the post of her abandoned bed in my hand and looked for her presence in magic. It was more work than I would have liked, but I was able to tap into it. There, I could see a few pieces of her history with that room.

I heard whining and moaning, and opened my eyes. The room was dark, but I could see a small shape in the bed, shifting and clutching in and at the blankets. She was clearly asleep, and had it not been a memory I had tapped into, I would have looked into what was making her writhe so steadily. Then, she stopped and let out a small cry. I could hear her audibly shaking and crying. She felt herself, as if looking for something. When she couldn't find it, she hugged herself and sat up. As she rocked back and forth, she muttered something quietly; "he's not real, he's not real, and even if he was, you're not worth his time, you've got nothing of interest, you're…."

I let go of the room's memory and thought silently. Something had clearly frightened her, and she spoke of a "he…." I wonder who "_he_" is, and whether "he" would be of any use to coax her out. However, it seemed doubtful she would recount this memory to family, so finding the memory was out of the current question.

After a moment or two of searching, the front door opened and closed, and a man's voice became clear. I left the bedroom and moved down the hallway.

"Shannon, why is the window open?" The man was not in the 'living room' when I entered, and I heard the window close.

"I was talking with someone; blame _him_," she said, pointing at me.

The man came around the corner and froze much like his youngest daughter had. But before either of us could speak, Shannon called our attention:

"Well, now that the both of us are here,_ where is my sister_?" She demanded, standing up.

"He…" the man looked at me. "What have you _done_ to her?" He took a few steps forward.

"Am I to presume that I speak with Christopher Jackson?" I politely inquired.

"Yes now _where's my daughter_?!" Like a fool, he took a hold of my suit. I placed a silent magic on him that… 'urged' him to sit down, to which he gave a fight. Shannon just stood, watching with worry.

"If you remain patient, perhaps I'll tell you," I told him carefully. Shannon gave me a glare that clearly stated, "that's not fair," but she remained silent, to my surprise. Christopher clearly wanted to speak up, but I wouldn't allow it. "I have finally located her, but up to now she has been inaccessible, under a dome barrier with three others. I was hoping, Mr. Jackson, that you would help me lure her out."

His face contorted with rage. "You think I'll let you get my daughter?!"

I smirked at this. "No, Mr. Jackson; I'm quite certain you will help me. Your daughter is one of the most stubborn things I have ever seen, and she is running out of food, fuel, and time before she, either, comes out of the barrier or _dies_ there." His gulp was audible and the rage in his eyes sunk to fear. He and his daughter alike are so easy to read…. "I do not wish to see your daughter dead; in fact, I would like very much for her to survive… but she is making that difficult, and she can not survive trapped in that barrier for much longer." I eyed him for a moment.

"The first time you interacted with her, she came home with heavily injured arms, and I've never seen her so frightened in my life." Now that was interesting, and I kept his exact words locked away for later use. "As… as much as it may _pain_ me to say it, she may be better off… dead…." Just as I noticed that the man was about to cry, Shannon stepped forward.

"Ganondorf Dragmire,"

Her words caught my attention. Few know my full name, and of those who do, even fewer dare say it. What disrespect from a skinny little brat! But the intensity of my eyes only met fierce ones. This girl was no coward, but she also wasn't necessarily wise.

"I don't know a single thing she's more afraid of than you. Always has been and now always will be! You're a man of immeasurable power and magic." She suddenly pointed at the television screen. "This game I'm playing—Resident Evil—she used to play with me. A horror of blood, and gore _made_ to scare people! And she still always found you to be more dangerous and scary than an army of undead, giant spiders, and humans infected with terrible, mutating viruses! Everything she wrote or dreamed had to do with you!"

That last bit surprised me. I had planned on quieting the girl at first but she was giving out useful information quite willingly. Suddenly, I wondered if I was the "he" in the girl's dream…. I feigned frustration and allowed the young sister to tell me everything she was willing or could.

"I remember her telling me that she couldn't remember a night during which she had a good dream; you always plagued them. She busied herself with learning how to stop you if you ever came, but obviously came to no option." She sat down, now giggling in memory. "She was a far better Fi, Navi, or Midna than any of them ever could be. She knew almost everything in that franchise! 'Hey, Sam, how do I get to that platform, there?' 'Oh, you missed a lever on the wall of room two in the Basement. But be careful, the enemies in the area can't be hut by your sword; you need to knock their armor off by slicing the ribbons on their backs.' Oh, and guess what? She was spot on."

Mr. Jackson heaved a heavy, shaky sigh. "It's no wonder you are so interested in her. She could tell you anything." He grinned here, though. "I'm sure if you asked her, she could point out your _flaws_."

This conversation had lost its value. I was not playing a game she knew, I was waging war. I hexed the two into silence and stillness and approached the father. Placing a firm hand against his shoulder, I spoke, "If I'm so obviously flawed, why am I President? Why am I being followed so loyally? I'll admit, I've made my mistakes, but I don't think that girl could best me, not even mentally." I placed my fingers on his forehead and temple, ready to search his mind. "Now, I'm curious about what you might be hiding from me…. I need to know how to tempt her away from the dome, her friends, and her stubbornness. Learning that I am her biggest known fear lets me know that I will need to coax her with something different…."

This mind was easy to tap into. Unlike his daughter's, I could easily take a firm hold and look through what I pleased. I found that she was a girl that held family close to her heart, she was an annoyingly wise thing when she wanted to be, and especially that she is a bit of a martyr. All of these attributes with be easy to use against her, and that is what I planned.

I released the man after putting him to sleep. I looked over to Shannon who was staring wide-eyed at her father, and I gave her a formal bow. "I thank you for releasing the information you were willing. If I am her greatest fear, then keeping her in her place will be simple." I let her free of her binds. "Your sister is in a wooded place near the Swanzey Airport. I don't suggest you seek her; the monsters guarding her would probably kill you before you saw her." I turned to leave.

"You alone will not be enough to keep her from doing something _stupid_. She'll want to prove she can win—she's good at that. You'll never break to pieces!" She shouted defiantly.

I could only smile. 'To pieces?' No, I'd never do that…. "Believe me, my dear, when I say I count on it." She could only stare in confusion. "Farewell, and Good Day. I do believe we shall meet again rather soon." And I left the house, quite satisfied. Her mother, on the other hand, was quite cooperative, but with too little knowledge to help me.

* * *

**A.N.: Next chapter, following the Record of Dragmire into war. Stay tuned!**


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